#jensen has given up trying to find him

[mydemonsdrivealimo]

bryce bringing jensen little drink refills just as an excuse to see him throughout the day :')

[little-diable]

Midnight Hotline - Dean Winchester (smut)

After meeting Jensen Ackles this weekend, I simply needed to write a Dean drabble. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: For weeks now, Dean has been calling the Midnight Hotline to speak to Lilith, a stranger he has fallen in love with while sharing his secrets and confessions. And now as they are in the same city, it’s finally time to meet.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), strangers to lovers

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.7k words)

“Midnight Hotline, this is Lilith speaking.” Her voice rang in his ears, instantly drawing a smile to his lips. He had to clear his throat before speaking up, sinking further into the leather seat as his eyes stared down on the city.  

“Hi, Lilith. It’s me.” The chuckle rumbling through her made his heart skip a beat. A by now all too familiar warmth began to spread through him, instantly distracting him from the grim feeling he hadn’t been able to shake. 

“Bobby! I was waiting for your call.” He still wasn’t used to the name he had given her weeks ago, knowing that he couldn’t share any personal details with the voice on the other end of the line. Dean hadn’t given the name much thought, it had instantly come to mind to comfort himself when he needed strength to move on. Strength only she managed to give him lately - her, the voice of a woman he didn’t know. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was busy, but I missed talking to you.” The words rolled off Dean’s tongue before he could stop them, trying to ignore the heat now spreading through his cheeks. He fumbled with the zip of his leather jacket, needing to find something he could use to distract himself from the sensations her voice pushed through him.

“Oh, I missed you too! Were you travelling again?” A deep hum left Dean while he wondered how she wore her hair today, what she wore and how she was feeling now, talking to him. Weeks ago he had asked her for a description of herself, it hadn’t been much, besides her hair and eye color, and yet it had been enough to shoot shudders down his spine. 

“I was, I’m in Colorado now.” Her breath shuddered as she exhaled, making him awfully aware of the silence that followed his words. Dean counted the passing by seconds, only allowing the sound of Lilith clearing her throat to interrupt him. 

“I’m also in Colorado.” She whispered the words, making Dean awfully aware of the thoughts now seemingly racing through her mind. 

Could this be their chance? Could this be the moment to break all rules she had once sworn to follow? 

“Where are you at, sweetheart?” Once again she mumbled the reply, leaving Dean to swallow heavily as he stared down at the city whose name she had just dropped. For a moment, he pondered over his choices, wondering if he should go ahead and follow the call of his heart to finally meet the woman who called herself Lilith, or if he should stay away like his mind begged him to. 

“When does your shift end?” His question was met with silence. Perhaps he had gone too far, perhaps she didn’t want to meet him like he desperately wanted to meet her. But the shaky giggle leaving her told Dean all he needed to know. She wanted this as much as he did, bound together by the past weeks, aching to finally meet after imagining the other since their first call. 

“Are we really doing this?” She kept her voice small, seemingly wondering herself if this was a good idea. Dean’s tongue rang along his lower lip, buying his racing heart a few more seconds before speaking up again. 

“We sure as hell are, sweetheart. Where should I pick you up?” 

……

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had been this nervous. This had something so unfamiliar to it, he had to force his body to stay right there and not to run like he wanted to. For the first time since he could remember, Dean began to doubt the way he may come across, wondering if she felt the same draw he had been trying to swallow and bury six feet under for a while now.

But before he could rerun all the things he wanted to say to her again, the sound of somebody nearing ripped his focus from his phone. He was leaning against Baby, wrapped in his dark jacket to try and shield himself from the cold air of the night, sensations that were forgotten the second his eyes met hers. 

Dean could instantly tell that it was her, carrying a soft smile that made him forget everything around him. His heart was in his throat, pounding louder than it had ever before - all while watching her approach. He allowed his eyes to take her in, wandering up and down her frame, just like hers did with him. Fuck, she was even prettier than he had imagined her to be, a woman so gorgeous, Dean wasn’t sure if he was under some spell, toying with his vision. 

“Bobby?” The sound of her voice forced all darkening thoughts into the back of his mind, purely focused on her. He nodded his head while reaching his hand out for her to take, set on pulling her in for a hug. The scent of her perfume washed through him, forcing Dean’s mind to cling to it with the silent promise of remembering this for the rest of his life. 

Her arms found their way around his middle, letting her head rest against his chest as he hugged her. No word was shared between them, letting their minds catch up with what was happening - something they had been dreaming of and longing for ever since their first call. 

“Hi,” she softly mumbled the word, looking up at him with eyes that seemed to uncover his every secret, instantly leaving Dean breathless. He couldn’t stop his hand from cupping her warm cheek, letting his thumb trace her soft skin as he repeated the word. 

“You’re even more handsome than I imagined you to be.” Her voice didn’t carry much strength as she spoke, just enough to draw a soft blush to his cold cheeks. 

“Well, seems like we got something in common there, you’re gorgeous, sweetheart.” Her smile grew wider at his compliment, keeping her focus on him as she slowly loosened her grip on him. But Dean didn’t let go of her just yet, needing to feel her close for as long as possible. “My real name’s Dean, I’m sorry for keeping that from you.” 

Her laugh left him grinning, watching her shake her head while moving closer once again, “Nice to meet you, Dean. I’m (y/n).” 

Dean had to force himself to snap out of his hazy state, wanting to cross the small distance between them to taste her name on his tongue for the first time before kissing her. But even though his heart urged him on to move, he fought against it, at least for now.

“Are you hungry? Or you want to go for a drink?” She studied him for a handful of seconds, unable to bite down her growing grin. 

“How about you come over to mine? I have some beer at home.” 

……

“Here you go.” She gave Dean a bottle of beer before sitting down next to him, letting her eyes take in every inch of his handsome features. The whole thing felt like a dream, something that was entirely too good to be true, and yet (y/n) tried to cherish every second, not daring to break away from him. “This still feels surreal. What are you even doing around here?”

She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he took a few sips of beer, buying himself some time before clearing his throat. Dean had his arm placed on the couch, resting behind her to keep (y/n) somewhat close without touching her, just enough closeness to give her the opportunity to shuffle closer and rest against him. A draw both were held hostage by, unable to fight against it. 

“My brother and I had some work stuff to do around here.” A hum left her, eyes fully focused on Dean and the soft smile playing on his lips. She could marvel at him for hours, getting lost in the green pupils that told stories she wanted to uncover one by one, learning everything about the man she had developed a crush on without even seeing him. 

“So, you will leave soon again, won’t you?” He placed the bottle down before fully turning towards her, hand finding her shoulder to let his fingers run along her skin. A sombre feeling began to stretch through the two of them, knowing that their time together wasn’t long and would end sooner than both liked. Dean nodded his head, trying to find words that would promise his return, even though he knew it could be weeks, perhaps even months, until he’d get another chance to return.

“Seems like we’ll have to make the best out of our time then.” The words rolled off her tongue seconds before she shuffled closer, letting her arms find their way around his neck. Three seconds passed until Dean began to move, two shaky breaths left them both, and one mumble of his name was all it took for Dean to kiss her breathless.

Perhaps they were moving all too fast, skipping important steps others clung to. But for the past weeks they had shared more with one another than they had with any other person, set on learning everything about the person on the other end of the line. It felt like they simply belonged together, forming a bond so sweet and sincere, neither had felt this alive before. 

Dean pulled her into his lap, hands resting on her waist to try and ground himself. This was more than just a fun night with a woman he’d never see again. This was everything he had never dared to give in to. This was what he had always feared, being with a woman who held his heart in her hands, giving her the power to toy with him. 

“Will this be a one night thing only?” (Y/n) mumbled the words against his slightly puffy lips, not daring to get lost in his darkening eyes before she had her answer. Dean’s hand found her chin, tilting it upwards to let her eyes find his. 

“Do you want it to be a one night thing?” His raspy voice buzzed through her like lightning striking her trembling body, setting her ablaze with a heat so strong, (y/n) feared she was about to lose control over her body. She had never been one for taking drugs, for chasing highs she couldn’t control, but now she couldn’t care about letting go, not when Dean held her oh so close. 

“No.” It was a simple reply, and yet it was enough to make a smirk grow on his lips. Dean kissed her again before he rose to his feet with her clinging to him, wordlessly letting her guide him towards her bedroom with her finger pointed in the right direction. Carefully, he placed her down on her bed, making room for him to shuffle out of his shirt to expose his naked upper body to her wandering eyes. 

“This is much more than just one night, I will come back to you, sweetheart. I promise.” Her laughter reverberated through the bedroom, leaving Dean chuckling before he tugged on her shirt. Both were a mess of tangled limbs as they undressed, leaving them both in their underwear before he pushed (y/n) down on the mattress, hovering over her. 

His lips kissed their way to her chest, sucking on the spots that made her breath hitch in her chest. Dean was high on her noises, wondering if being with women had always been like this and if he had simply never paid enough attention or if this was all about being with (y/n). Everything about this felt different, a routine he had once known by heart turning into something completely new he never wanted to let go of again. 

“Dean, touch me, please. Been waiting too long for this to happen.” (Y/n)’s impatient words left him chuckling while he undid her bra, exposing her breasts to his excited eyes. Sweet nothings left him as he marked her up, sucking on her hardening nubs and letting his hands palm her skin before moving further down south. Their eyes held contact, connected through every passing moment. 

“You’re so gorgeous, baby, I can’t wait to have my way with you.” She mewled his name, eyes fluttering close as he pressed a kiss to her clothed heat. Slowly, Dean pulled her panties down her legs, letting the fabric drop to the ground before kissing his way to her pulsing bundle. A moan clawed through (y/n) at the new sensation, high on the feeling of his rough tongue brushing against her bundle, on the way he brushed two fingers through her slit to spread her arousal on her warm skin. “You taste so sweet, fuck, I could do this forever.” 

“Make me cum, please, Dean. I need you.” (Y/n) arched her back off the mattress, toes curled as her orgasm crept closer and closer. He sucked on her bundle, drawing another moan from her that left him grinning in success. Dean wanted to see her cum when he was buried deep inside of her, knowing that he couldn’t drag this out much longer. “I want you so bad, make me yours.”

“You’re already mine, sweetheart. I’d be stupid to let you go again.” He let go of her to step out of his boxers, hand finding his hard cock to give it a few tugs. (Y/n) momentarily shuffled away from her spot, reaching for a condom Dean rolled down on his length, leaving both nervous for a second as he positioned himself. 

“Oh my god, fuck.” She choked on her words as he sank into her, moving slowly to let them both adjust. Dean pressed his forehead against hers, giving her the opportunity to sling one arm around his neck while the other ran down his back, scratching at his skin. He moved carefully at first, keeping her legs wrapped around his waist while he stretched her perfectly, making her feel full with every thrust. 

“Focus on me, baby.” Their eyes met again, wordlessly sharing their every thought, every longing they struggled to put into words. She felt loved, more loved than ever before, all because of a man she had met for the first time hours ago, even though she knew his darkest and deepest secrets. He felt appreciated and complete for the first time in his life, he had finally found what he had always been searching for, and it had come in the shape of a woman he had fallen head over heels in love with.

Their bodies melted together with every thrust, tangled limbs and racing hearts that formed a completed picture. She whimpered his name, knowing that her orgasm was all too close and ready to bury her six feet under with Dean clinging to her like ancient lovers buried together. Nothing could rip them apart, nothing could stand in their way as they loved one another like they had always ached to be loved. 

“I’m so close, Dean.” Her whispers spurred him on, letting his hand find her bundle to give her the needed pressure. She came first, letting go with another moan as his hips kept snapping against hers. Dean fucked her through her high, watching her unfold beneath him with a proud smirk glued to his lips.

He came moments later, burying his face in the crook of her neck to let the scent of her perfume engulf him. She clung to him, wordlessly trying to find back to reality as both panted, “Never let me go again, Dean.” 

“Never, baby, it’s you and me against the world.”

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

I love jack so so much he's perfect but tbh I do think it would've worked much more with the show if he was a destiel baby instead of lucifer's. and I'm not just saying that as a shipper or whatever I mean narratively it would've been a lot cleaner- and actually, I think it would've been super funny to no-homo them creating a baby together, like, literally all they would have to do is say "oh, when cas rebuilt dean after hell he accidentally left some grace tangled in his soul, and every time he's healed him since then it's been growing stronger until a nephilim was born". like yes the studio is homophibic etc etc but all the jokes they'd make about dean being spiritually pregnant would be very funny for me personally.

but ANYWAY, jack's story gets messy and convoluted and I think this would've been like...a simple fix. them worrying about him going dark side could be because they're worried how demon!dean and lucifer!cas affected him in development, the show LOVES bloodline drama, chuck's wanting abraham and issac 2.0 would've worked better this way, dean's storyline with him would be improved, bc rather than 'oh no I slowly but surely emotionally adopted the antichrist' like I think he would've had an easier time clocking his john-behavoir if it wasn't a question whether he was jack's dad or not. plus last time dean actively raised a kid he went to great lengths to keep the supernatural away from him, so it'd be interesting to see how he handles a kid he CANT possibly hide from this part of his life. it would make more sense why michael wanted jack as a vessel- yes obviously he wanted the nephilim power boost but also having him as part of the winchester bloodline, making him a PERFECT vessel he doesn't have to worry about burning up would add a lot. we could also use this argument for why lucifer is so interested in him if anyone actually liked that plotline in season 14 lmao. we know chuck hated cas and dean's relationship, could you imagine if he checked in and found out they made an unauthorized baby together💀 like that really would've given better context for why he hates jack so much. cas wouldn't need that whole weird brainwashing arc to wanna protect unborn jack, PLUS it could've been an interesting source of angst for him- he feels like he's failed once again, creating an abomination and putting dean in danger, but also still loves jack immensely. it'd be so good! also imagine how fucking stressed out heaven would be to find out a mini castiel is on the way. they wouldn't even wanna exploit that kid for power they'd be preemptively treating the headaches they know they're gonna get lmfao.

also. the casting directors literally put jensen and misha into a face morph app and cast the first actor they could find that matched the results. which would've made more sense if,,,,he was just Theirs. the comedy of dean and cas making a baby before either of them managed to admit their feelings to each other would be more fun then the "dude adopted a kid and pawns him off on his unwilling roommate's all the time and they eventually warm up to the kid" storyline we actually got. we also could've replaced some of the jack-dean angst from the show with "dean wants to connect more with jack but he feels shut out whenever cas is around bc he can't relate to any angel stuff so obviously jack's going to cas for help more!", which I think would be interesting!! how AWFUL dean and cas would feel that jack didn't feel safe enough to be a baby. dad!sam is still in full swing but he cares for jack right off the bat instead of trying to use him for his powers at first. lily sunder talking about how cas killed her kid bc he thought it was a nephilim and dean, who's already fully aware he's (spiritually) knocked up by cas is like 👹 inch resting cas-tee-elle tell me more. mary having a 'my baby has a baby' crisis. cas insisting jack looks nothing like him is a running joke but then at some point he explains its bc jack's 'true form' looks just like dean's soul....

ALSO- in a show where, canonically, the very first act of free will was cas falling in love with dean...the physical manifestation of that defeating chuck and taking his place as god? come ON.

[buckymorelikefuckme]

an evened score

jake jensen x fem reader

part two of a helping hand

words: 1.3k

warnings: jake motherfuckin jensen, explicit sexual content so **18+ ONLY** pls and thank, guided masturbation, use of vibrator, dirty talk, brief unprotected sex (don’t do that), crying during sex, multiple orgasms… uhhh, i think that’s it? but let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: this one is for you @bigtreefest 🫡♥️ i have no excuse for this except for the fact that i’m whipped for this man and can’t stop thinking about him. not proofread so any and all mistakes are my own! feedback is encouraged and greatly appreciated 🥰 xo

❀ part one

“Jake, please.”

Your voice is thin and weary, nearly a whine, as your chest heaves for breath.

Time has ceased to exist and has left you to spiral into a mindless, pleasure filled haze. Yet, even in the midst of the overwhelming good you’re feeling, there hasn’t been a chance of following those tingly, sparkly sensations to completion. No hint of satisfaction yet.

Perhaps you created a monster when you offered to lend a hand to your sweet Jakey, all those weeks ago, when the two of you easily slipped into more-than-friends. He’d been so shy still during the first few weeks, always taking what he was given and only sometimes asking for more, until you sat him down and told him you liked when he asked for more, when he took more. After that, he got a little more confident. More assured.

And now, in the present, you’re putty in his hands. He’s got you in the same position you first had him in; your chest resting against his back, settled between his muscled thighs. Jake asked you to show him how you get yourself off and it sent a new type of thrill down your spine, so you eagerly agreed.

Oh, how naive you’d been.

“Keep going, baby, you’re doing so well,” he murmurs in your ear, his lips brushing the cartilage tantalizingly.

You do whine this time, needy and drawn out. You’ve got three fingers in your pussy, thrusting them at an uneven pace, face full of heat at the audible squelching sounds it creates. In your other hand is a small bullet vibrator that you’ve been lightly grazing on and around your clit, not wanting to put too much pressure on such a sensitive spot, especially when you’ve already come twice. You’ve been torn between begging to stop and begging for him to fucking do something already, especially since he’s—

“Just thinking about how warm you are inside,” he says, gruff, his chest rumbling beneath your back. “How your pussy squeezes me so tight. Never felt anything better in my life.”

As if it’s responding to his words, your pussy clenches around your fingers, and you bite your lip to hold back your whimpers. He’s been whispering all the things he wants to do to you, all the ways he finds you sexy, everything he loves about fucking you, and you’re reaching your breaking point. You can feel his cock, so fucking hard and pulsing at the small of your back, but he won’t do anything, fuck, you’re almost crying out of pure frustration. Your skin glistens with a light sheen of sweat as you struggle to keep your legs spread.

“I’ve had so many fantasies about you,” Jake confesses next, softer in this admission in a way that highlights his lingering trepidation of being so bold with you, but all it does is make you finally let out that whimper and have your head falling limply back onto his shoulder. “Wanna… wanna try so many things.”

“What—“ You stop and gasp when the vibrator hits such a perfect spot, body locking up before you force yourself to relax. “What kind of things?” you manage to get out several seconds later.

He hums, dragging his lips across your neck, stopping occasionally to lick and nip at it. “Thought about seeing how many times I can make you come on my tongue only, in one night. Thought about fucking you against the windows, so everyone could see how well I take care of you. Wanna bend you over the couch, or the counter, or any other flat surface so I can watch your ass bounce while I fuck you. Wanna—god, I wanna spank your beautiful ass and leave my handprint there like a fucking brand.”

His hands finally begin to wander your skin, his own breathing picking up as he voices his imagination. Your fingers have since stopped moving, mostly because your arm is tired, but also because everything he’s saying is making you lose your goddamn mind and you can’t focus anymore.

“Wondered if you could keep my cock warm in your pussy while I finished up some work. Or maybe in your mouth. You’d be such a good girl for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you cry, nodding and turning your face into his neck to desperately mouth at whatever you can reach. “Jakey, please, I need more.”

He coos, kissing your forehead. “Your fingers aren’t enough, are they?”

You shake your head and whine, because he’s right. Your fingers are nothing compared to his. They’re thin and kind of dainty, where his are thick and so good and long. But even his fingers don’t compare to his cock. Oh, sweet merciful jesus, his cock. You’d write and perform sonnets about it if you knew Jake wouldn’t combust from embarrassment.

“Okay,” he relents, “c’mon, you can have my fingers.”

The moment the words leave his lips you’re removing your own and lifting them to prod at his mouth, which he opens immediately. He groans, guttural and greedy, as he sucks every bit of your taste off of them. Yours still trapped between his lips, he wastes no time plunging two of his fingers into your dripping wet pussy, moaning when you flutter around them straight away. Your jaw slackens from the switch, hips fucking forward into his hand before you even register that you’re moving and your own fingers slipping free from his skilled tongue.

“Keep being good for me,” he instructs, “keep using your toy on your pretty pussy.”

Tears gather in your eyes when you touch your clit with the vibrating tip of the toy. It’s so much, too much, and it’s not nearly enough either.

“Jake,” you cry, bringing your knees up and fighting against the urge to close them.

“Look at you,” he muses, free hand gliding down your torso and back up to pinch and tweak at your nipples, then sliding downward once more to wrap around your hand and guide your movements, applying even more pressure to the vibrator that has you jerking and sobbing his name louder than ever. “So fucking perfect. Fantasy can’t hold a candle to reality, baby.”

Your tears spill over as you cry and beg and writhe, for more, for everything. Jake shushes you gently, curling his fingers inside you to rub incessantly at the spot that makes you sob pathetically, keeping those vibrations directly on your clit.

It’s sensory overload and your orgasm rips through you almost violently. Every bit of your being trembles and spasms, lungs aching as you sharply search for your breath, pleasure pulsing through you from the top of your head all the way down to your curled toes. The fingernails of your free hand dig into his meaty thigh as he coaxes you through the hardest orgasm of your fucking life.

It seems like it drags on and on and on. Your vision starts to go fuzzy and the noises pouring out of you become quieter and smaller, legs shaking as tremors wrack through your body. Jake continues murmuring sweet praises in your ear as he slowly stops moving his fingers and removes the vibrator. Like the strings of a marionette being cut, you fall back into his embrace, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“Baby,” he’s whispering urgently, and the last functioning brain cell you have takes note of the way his hips are twitching upward into you, “baby, please.”

You hum softly in assent and he’s carefully, yet eagerly, scrambling to get you flat on your back.

“I’ll be quick, I promise, I just need you,” he mutters as he lines up his gorgeous, thick, huge, fucking perfect cock and thrusts inside. You let out a pitiful cry and he kisses you. “I know, I know,” he croons, setting up a rough pace from the start, “we’ll take a rest after this, okay? But then I have more plans.”

You’d hit him if you had the energy. You’d protest and call him an insatiable fucking monster… but you both know you’d be begging for him within minutes, so instead, you let him wipe away your tears and suck on his tongue while he fucks the breath out of you.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

I Believe You, But Tell Me Again

(x)

Summary: Y/N is wondering if Jensen still sees her as he used to.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Lots of fluffy smut. Sexy af Jensen. Rockstar!Jensen. Definitely a warning. Unprotected PinV sex. Oral (f receiving), Brief fingering, some slightly insecure thoughts, established relationship. Fluff.

Pairings: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 3,314

A/N: This fic is a request by @lacilou .

I'm not sure if you're taking requests, but I can't get this out of my head. Jensen, in the photo you're using for Off and On Again. Where he's super hot, and he knows it. Kinda cocky but totally in love with the reader (established relationship - married, long-time girlfriend??) And reader doesn't understand why he's so into her, but she KNOWS it even though Jensen has to remind her with "Feel this? It's all for you, "while he's holding the reader's hand over his bulge. If you could throw in "this what you want?" while he's slowly stroking himself as he walks towards the reader, lust in his eyes.

I hope you enjoy it sweetie, and everyone else too.

The dividers below were created by @talesmaniac89

The lights were bright, slightly blinding, as Y/N sat in front of the two cameras aimed at her. There were two cameras so they could decide later on which side was her better side. Or possibly her worse side, depending on the tone of the interview. 

Y/N squinted at the primped and stylish woman sitting across from her getting her makeup touched up. She wondered, would this interview be a friendly one? An interview to say, “Look everyone! Aren’t the Ackles great?” Or would it be one of those interviews that had an edge of nasty hovering just beneath the smile of the interviewer. 

She watched this interviewer, Shauna, pull away from her makeup artist, scowling. “It’s fine, Lisa. Just leave it alone.” 

Uh oh.

The interview started off friendly enough, touching on the things most journalists talked to her about - Jensen’s incredible skyrocketing success, his status as a rockstar icon, what a talent he was. As Jensen’s biggest fan, Y/N always enjoyed those kinds of questions. She couldn’t get enough of bragging about her ridiculously talented husband. 

But then the mood of the interview shifted and Shauna started asking much more pointed questions. 

“Now, Y/N, you and Jensen have been married over a decade now, right?” Y/N nodded. “Is there a secret to your success?” Shauna was smiling, but Y/N could see that her gray eyes were calculating.

It was a question she’d been asked a lot in the last couple of years as their ten year anniversary came and went. People seemed very interested in the fact that their marriage had lasted so much longer than had been anticipated. When Jensen had started dating her, just a nobody from nowhere, everyone had predicted it wouldn’t last. 

People on social media and angry people with podcasts all had an opinion on their relationship.

-- She’s not cut out for the limelight.

-- It’s way too hard for someone like her.

-- She’s not used to the media. She’s gonna break under the pressure.

-- He’s a rockstar who could literally get any girl he wanted. So, what’s up with him picking her?

-- It won’t last. These showbiz marriages never do.

But ten years on, now people were wondering how they actually made it to a decade. “What’s the secret?” They all wanted to know.

“There’s really no secret, Shauna.” Y/N said with a smile. “When two people are madly in love with each other, when they respect each other and work together as partners, staying together becomes much easier.” 

It was a variation on the same answer she’d given dozens of times. It happened to be true, but Y/N was still tired of trying to find new ways to explain to people that they got married because they loved each other, and they stayed married because the alternative was unthinkable for either of them.

Shauna smiled a sharp smile. “And in all those years, you’ve never been worried about the rock and roll lifestyle…leading Jensen astray?”

Y/N kept smiling because she couldn’t falter and let the reporter know she’d scored a hit. They weren’t usually that pointed with the infidelity question. Usually they skirted around it, saying things like, “Does it ever get hard when he’s on the road?” or “You must miss him when he’s touring. How do you keep tabs on him?” 

Y/N’s personal favorite version of this question came from a middle-aged woman reporter with lipstick on her teeth. “Have you ever just shown up to surprise him, or tried to catch him being naughty?” It was said with a cheeky grin as though they were just besties chatting, but Y/N had wanted to snatch the woman bald.

Shauna’s version of the question was the closest anyone had ever come to asking her outright, “Do you worry about your husband cheating on you?”

Y/N kept smiling and shook her head. “No, never. If you knew Jensen, you wouldn’t wonder about it either. He’s the most loyal man I’ve ever known, and the most honorable. I know beyond a doubt that he doesn’t take our vows lightly, and that he would never, ever hurt me like that.”

Shauna seemed slightly taken aback by Y/N’s adamant, genuine answer, clearly expecting some anger or some kind of dramatic reaction from her. When she didn't get it, the reporter just smiled again.

“So sweet.” Was her response, acid dripping from her words.

***

The day of interviews had taken quite a bit out of Y/N, especially the last one, and she was tired as she wandered out to the limousine that was waiting to take her and Jensen back to their hotel, whenever he was done with his part of the press junket.

The limo driver opened the door for her and smiled. “Fatima says Mr. Ackles is almost finished and will be out in about ten minutes. Do you want to wait for him? Or should I take you and send another car for him?”

Y/N smiled back and shook her head. “No, let’s wait for him.”

“Okay, great.” The driver said as he closed the door behind her. 

In less than ten minutes, she saw Jensen push out of the double doors, and amble towards the car. He wore black jeans that clung to his thick thighs, and a gray t-shirt covered by a black, long-sleeved denim shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the veins and corded muscles in his forearms - muscles he’d gained by long hours spent playing the guitar.

As he got closer to the car, she watched him push a hand through his long hair, sweeping it off his forehead, and she sighed deeply. Good God, he was so stunningly sexy. 

Even when he was just walking, he moved with the same seductive grace he used like a siren song onstage. No matter how many times Y/N watched him in concert, she never got used to that kind of magnetic, cocky seductiveness that poured out of him when he was singing. He knew he drove people crazy. He knew it, and it just made him smile.

He was smiling now as he climbed into the car. “Hey beautiful.”

Y/N smiled tiredly at him, feeling her heart warm at his usual greeting. When he settled into the seat, he reached over and pulled her into his lap.

She squealed lightly as he lifted her, and then chuckled. “You know there are seatbelts we’re supposed to be wearing.”

Jensen shrugged and squeezed her tighter against him. “Nah! I gotcha.” 

Y/N laughed again. “Oh, okay then.” She said, snuggling closer to him. The interview had knocked her off kilter a bit, and it felt especially good to have Jensen’s arms wrapped around her. 

She tucked her head under his chin, and he ran his big hand up and down her arm. “Hey,” he said with concern lacing his voice, “everything okay?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, just a long day sitting in the same room, being asked basically the same questions.” She shrugged. “I just wanna get home. Or, well, hotel.”

Jensen accepted her answer, kissing her forehead and then her lips. “Me too.” 

They ordered in their dinner, neither of them keen to face more crowds and questions, and spent the evening watching some trashy reality TV before calling it a night a bit earlier than usual.

Y/N went into the bathroom to get ready. She brushed her teeth and took off her makeup, and as she stood in front of the mirror she looked at her face closely. 

There were some lines there that hadn’t been there when she first met Jensen. She knew there was a gray hair or two hiding amongst the rest that also hadn't existed back then. 

She pulled her silk nightgown tight against her body and could see where she was rounder than she had been when she was younger. Her muscle tone wasn’t as good. 

I should hit the gym more, she thought.

She pinched one of her love handles and pulled at her skin, wondering what Jensen really thought about all these changes. She knew he loved her, knew that he’d always found her attractive. But how was that holding up these days? Did he still feel the same kind of heat for her? Did he still want her as desperately as she still wanted him?

She jumped slightly as Jensen popped up in the mirror behind her to wrap his arms around her waist, and nuzzle his face in the crook of her neck. He wore his pajama bottoms and nothing more. She looked at his biceps flexing around her as he squeezed her back against him, and his round, muscled shoulders, broad and strong, and she sighed. He was still so unbelievably perfect.

She lightly tapped his forearm where it rested just below her breasts. “You scared me.” She said, her voice accusatory.

He chuckled. “Sorry, I thought you heard me.” He caught her eye in the mirror. “But you seemed to be lost in thought.”

He moved his lips to her temple. “What thoughts are swirling around in that beautiful mind of yours? Hmm?” He murmured. 

She shrugged a shoulder. “Nothing.” 

Jensen’s face in the mirror wore a disbelieving look. “Don’t believe that for a second.” He pulled back slightly, and turned her in his arms so she was facing him. A small line of worry was creased between his brows.

“You’ve been quiet all evening; something is obviously on your mind.”

Y/N shrugged again and looked down at their bare feet. “Just tired.”

Jensen put his knuckle under her chin and made her look at him. “Y/N. Tell me.”

Y/N was caught completely by surprise as her eyes welled up with tears. She didn’t know where these doubts were coming from or why she was feeling this way. Maybe it was just one too many snide questions.

Jensen’s face crumpled as he saw her tears. He cupped her cheeks and brushed them away as they spilled over her lashes. “Baby.” His voice was worried and confused. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong? What happened?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, nothing happened. Really. It was just this reporter.” 

Jensen waited for her to continue, but his worried expression darkened slightly in anger.

Y/N bit her lip and debated what to tell him, how to explain the feelings she barely understood herself. Finally she just went for the honesty they’d always had with each other; they’d never been afraid to ask for what they needed from one another, and what she needed was reassurance.

“Do you still want me? I mean, the same as you used to.”

Jensen seemed completely taken aback by the question. Clearly that hadn’t been where he expected this conversation to go. He shook his head.

“Why would you even ask that? Of course I do.”

Y/N frowned. “Don’t just tell me what I want to hear. Please, tell me the truth. Are there things about me you’d change if you could?��

Jensen’s expression turned thunderous and he dropped his hands from her cheeks to grip her upper arms. “Y/N.” He said firmly. “What the hell are you talking about? Where is this coming from? Of course I don’t want you to change.”

“I don’t mean my personality, or whatever.” Y/N explained wiping her tears away with both hands. “But my face or my body, the way I look. I know it isn’t the same as when we first met.”

Jensen shook his head, his voice incredulous. “Well no, you don’t look exactly the same as the day I met you over a decade ago.” He blew out an exasperated breath. “But you know, I’m pretty sure I don’t either.”

Y/N felt her skin flush. “But you’ve just gotten hotter.” She frowned. “Guys do that.” 

She opened her mouth to say something more, but Jensen slammed his mouth down on hers, sweeping his tongue into her mouth and invading her completely. She let out a little whimper as his hands let go of her arms to grab her ass and press her hard against him. He kissed her long, deep, swallowing every soft moan.

When he pulled back his voice was husky with want. “Baby, I don’t know where these questions are coming from, but I know the answers.” 

He grabbed Y/N’s hand and placed it on his hard cock where it tented his pajama bottoms, obviously not restrained by underwear. She bit her lip as he closed his eyes and groaned when she wrapped her fingers around him. 

“Feel this? It’s all for you, all because of you. Fuck, Y/N do you see what you do to me? Still? Always?” He pushed aside some of the bottles and jars that littered the countertop and lifted her onto it easily. His hand slipped between her legs and he groaned at her bare, wet pussy. “Believe me when I tell you that I want you. Every day. All the time. Years don’t change that.”

He shook his head. “In fact they just make things better cause now I know what happens if I do this.” 

He dipped his head, sucking her satin clad nipple into his mouth, while his thick middle finger slid inside her body at the same time. A strangled cry left her lips and she thumped her head back against the mirror.

She felt him smile against her. “Exactly.”

He took his hand out of her to tug on her nightgown. She shifted slightly so he could pull the silky material over her head as he continued.  “And yet, your body’s always a revelation to me. It never stops fascinating me.” His eyes followed the path of his fingers as he trailed them down her arms and then over the soft swell of her breasts. Gooseflesh erupted on her skin and her nipples puckered.

He circled his forefinger around the tight little bud, before dipping his head once again to flick the tip of his tongue against it. 

Y/N moaned deeply and wrapped her fingers up in his honey brown locks. “Jensen.” She gasped as he sucked her breast into his mouth and drew on it deeply, causing her cunt to clench and quiver.

He pulled her forward, to the edge of the counter, and then dropped to his knees. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her wide open so he could reach his tongue up to tease her hole. Y/N plunged her hand back into his hair and tugged on it before pushing his head harder against her dripping pussy. 

“God, fuck Jensen, yes.” She rambled.

He hummed against her folds before nibbling at her clit, making her knees try to lock around his ears. But his superior strength kept her legs spread wide so he could feast. He breathed hot against her, alternating between flicking his tongue against her clit and sucking it between his plump, luscious lips.

It wasn’t long before Y/N was bucking against his mouth as she rode out her climax while he lapped up her juices. She panted desperately and tugged on his hair again, begging him. “Please Jensen, fuck me. I need to feel you, need you inside me so badly.”

Jensen stood and scooped her off the counter, walking back into their bedroom. He laid her out on the bed, making sure her head was propped up on the pillows, before stepping away from her. He moved far enough back so that she had an unencumbered view as he slowly lowered his pajama bottoms. 

His cock sprang free to lean, hard and dripping, against his stomach. Y/N felt her mouth go dry and a keening moan erupted from her throat as he gripped himself in his fist, pumping slowly.

He walked towards her one slow step at a time. His voice was a growl. “Is this what you want?” She nodded, biting her lips and trying desperately not to come again, just from watching him.

“Tell me you want it.” Jensen ordered.

Y/N nodded again, almost frantically. “Yes, fuck. I want it. I want your cock.” She reached for him as he stood barely a foot from the side of the bed. “I need it. I need you.”

Jensen climbed onto the bed on his knees, grabbing up her wrists with both hands and pressing them into the pillows on either side of her head. He stared into her eyes as he spoke. 

“And I need you too, Y/N. I need you desperately, obsessively. I need you every waking minute. I need your love and your kindness. I need your good soul and beautiful heart.” He entered her in one hard thrust and she cried out. “But I also need your soft body. I need to sink into you. I need to feel you move against me. I need to hear you say my name like a moan. I need to feel you clench tight around me.”

He began moving slowly, sliding in and out of her with silky, unhurried movements. “I will always love you. I will always want you. And I will never need you any less than completely.” He cupped her cheek with one hand. “Do you understand me?”

Y/N nodded and gasped as his cock slid over her sweet spot. “Yes. Yes.” Was all she could manage to chant. But it satisfied him and he began to move faster.

He switched positions slightly so he could lift her hips off the bed, hooking her knees over his forearms. He began to slam into her, hitting that same sweet spot over and over until Y/N was screaming out her overwhelming pleasure and falling into euphoria. 

Jensen continued to jackhammer into her, grunting harshly with each thrust. He pounded into her pussy over and over until she was once again on the precipice of bliss. As his hips faltered, he dropped one of her legs so he could slide his thumb between their bodies and swirl it against her clit. She screamed again and fell for the third time, clenching around him and pulling his climax out of him, along with her own.

The familiar aftermath of damp skin pressed together and lungs starved for oxygen, brought Y/N a kind of all encompassing satisfaction and peace. When Jensen finally rolled off of her, she rolled with him, so she could slot herself up against his side, wrapping one arm over his ribs and laying her head on his chest as he ran his fingers teasingly up and down her back making her shiver.

They were both quiet for a few minutes before Jensen broke the silence. “Y/N tell me the truth.” He said, and Y/N could hear the protectiveness and anger on her behalf permeating his tone. “Did someone say something or do something to hurt you today?”

But she just shook her head. “No, it wasn’t any different than a million other interviews really.” She shrugged. “Something about it just hit me, I guess.”

She raised up on her elbow, chin in her hand, to look at him. “But if you tell me you love me as truly, madly, deeply as you did the day we met, then I believe you.”

Jensen frowned slightly. “Are you comparing me to a Savage Garden song?”

Y/N giggled, but ignored the question, kissing him softly before laying her head back down on his chest. She smiled against his skin as she spoke. 

“I believe you, but tell me again.”

Jensen’s breath ruffled her hair as he sighed contentedly. “I will love you, and desperately want to devour you, every single day of my life - for the rest of my life.”

Y/N nodded, and her voice was full of confidence as she snuggled closer. “Thought so.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Three

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

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

WC: 13k

Chapter Warnings: angst obviously what would this story be without it, poppy and nico having an overdue conversation, nico moping again with his big sad brown eyes, nico being jealous again, drinking, cursing, meddling friends, being stood up, mentions of controlling parents as always, a little touching maybe a little more kissing too and even more meddling friends

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

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Two)

A/N: I have nothing to say honestly just hope you enjoy I really don't know why I struggled writing most of this despite knowing what I wanted to do with it I think just figuring out how I want certain conversations to go and how to get from a to b is pure stresssss I'm not entirely in love with it but what can you do also proofread her? I hardly know her

but if you have anything to say pls send it my way lmao I'd really like to hear any thoughts or opinions 💓

Poppy

Poppy was once told by her good friend, Kelsey, that she would be able to tell everything she needed to know about a guy by the way they answered one very simple question. 

If you could have any superpower, what would it be?

She thinks about it more often than she really should, if she’s honest with herself, but Kelsey’s rationale behind each potential answer is actually a stroke of rare genius - and Poppy often finds herself applying the logic to most people that she encounters.

Guys who say super speed are the ultimate red flag. No one wants a quick finisher, no matter how fast they may be in any other aspect of life. Some things specifically require time and patience. Sacrificing your partner’s satisfaction all to say you can run the world record fastest 5k is the ultimate ick.

There’s an argument to be made for the endurance choosers, it sure has its perks, but Poppy thinks it’s a boring pick. To be given the option of any superpower, and to choose perseverance, of all things? Get a life. 

Anyone who chooses x-ray vision is a certified pervert, obviously. The same could be said for those wanting to read minds, although most of the guys Poppy has seen in her life struggle to comprehend the things she says in plain words, never mind whatever nonsense is circling through her inner thoughts. 

Those who choose flying are one dimensional, rarely able to see beyond what’s right in front of them, because, if they could, they’d choose the much better option of teleportation.

Who chooses flying when you could just think about somewhere and instantaneously arrive? With your hair in tact and no risk of bumping into any territorial birds.

Teleportation is what Poppy would have picked if anyone would have asked her a week ago, for the mere fact that commuting anywhere is the bane of her entire existence, and if she thinks too hard about it or looks to much into it, it always has been. 

She associates it with sitting in the back of her dad’s Bentley as a child, a tangible, frosty silence lingering in the air between her parents after one of their many even-toned arguments disguised as discussions, the fresh pine scent making her car sick and the leather seats making the back of her thighs sticky. 

Or the fragile bones of her hand being crushed by her mother’s tight grip as they rode the Amtrak over to Manhattan, Priscilla sneering at anyone who dared step too close on the crowded carriage, Poppy being dragged throughout department stores in the name of mother-daughter bonding time, and clutching to a tiny consolation Macy’s bag housing a sparkly lip gloss like her life depended on it the whole way home. 

She thinks of all the hours of her life she’s wasted on the Palisades Parkway, no longer able to enjoy the scenic route whenever she has to drive back to her parent’s house in Alpine after having watched one too many crime shows where a broken down car leads to a girl’s face plastered all over the news.

Even driving to work can feel like hell when the traffic is bad, what should be a 30 minute drive sometimes turning into an hour, Poppy’s fingers cramping around the wheel and her feet itching to touch solid ground after too long.

Teleportation sounds perfect.

And, there’s even a romance element to it. Being whisked away to Paris in the blink of an eye, suddenly sitting outside a boulangerie, decadent, rich hot chocolate on a table in front of her and a plate full of pastries, all because she mentioned a slight craving for a pain au chocolat. 

Teleportation has always been the only correct, green-flag answer to the question. 

Until Poppy properly considered time travel, that is.

The concept of it has always been a little too much or her to handle - too many strange loopholes, too many bad examples from the sci-fi movies her brother had loved as a kid. Travelling back in time to when her parents were her age and accidentally capturing her adolescent father’s attention à la Marty McFly? Sounds like hell and horror to Poppy. 

But that was before she screwed everything up.

If she could have any superpower right now, currently weighed down with the burden of hindsight - which people have always told her is a funny thing, but she thinks is actually somewhat diabolical - she would pick time travel a thousand times over.

Because if human beings have a specific part of their brain that is dedicated to forcing them to sit and stew on their every poor decision for days on end - lets them rethink and regret everything until they’re blue in the face, and can’t think of anything other than how idiotic they have been - it should also offer the kindness of being able to go back and change what they so royally fucked up.

That’s what Poppy thinks, at least, as she throws herself down onto her bed, her back hitting the duvet in a whoosh and all she can do is stare at the ceiling and wonder how and when she became such a certified moron.

There’s a part of her that suspects it’s in her genes. Inevitable. Unavoidable. Nature and nurture, she was born and raised to be a full blown fool.

Poppy comes from a long line of privilege, and while it does take a certain element of intelligence to amass the wealth her family has, it also tends to go hand in hand with ignorance in its many forms.

Behind every fortuitous business move her father makes are a million other mistakes - failed ventures, bad investments, shoddy pieces of advice accepted from the untrustworthy snakes he surrounds himself with. Hidden beneath every rung of the social ladders her mother has managed to climb, there are the ugly faux-pas’ slipping through the cracks of a former, more unsavoury life she can never run too far from. And her brother - well, she suspects he’s just an idiot, there are no two ways about it.

She knows that she needs to stop blaming her family, though. This time, it’s all her.

She can’t blame her father for the way she overthinks, the man who makes every decision in life with the littlest regard for how anyone else feels about it. She can’t blame her mother for the way she places such little value on herself, the woman who walks into every room like she owns it and refuses to let anyone make her think otherwise.

Except maybe she can.

If she had the nerve to talk to a therapist, they might disagree - might say her overthinking comes from her dad’s lack of communication skills, a part of her brain always filling in the gaps of a half-assed, other side of any conversation with him. Or they might say her insecurities come from her mom constantly putting Poppy down while telling her to be more sure of herself - stop slouching, Poppy, no one will take you seriously with the posture of a candy cane.

She’d love to know where her need to repress her feelings so deep that she becomes an impenetrable, cold, dark fortress comes from. The need to push and shove when someone tries to get too close, because God forbid anything is ever easy when it comes to her affections.

It would have made the past 4 days since Nico had walked into her apartment and kissed the life out of her a whole lot easier. 

4 days spent reminiscing, rethinking and regretting every single thing she had said and done since their lips parted, since he had put his heart on the line and she’d whacked it away, full swing, as if too desperate for the victory of a last-bat home run.

If she could time travel, she’d do the whole thing over.

-

“Don’t go on that date, Mohn.”

She had read the words on his lips before they registered through her ears, the sound of her blood rushing throughout her body occupying every sense for a brief moment.

What the hell is going on?

Nico had kissed her. He’d grabbed her, pulled her into him, and she’s pretty sure he had made her heart stop for a good second - there’s no other justifiable reason for the way it had been reverberating against her ribcage ever since. 

And then he stood before her, a desperate, pleading projection playing in his dark irises, lips still slick from where her own had just been, cheeks flushed, shoulders rising with subtle panting breaths, waiting for a response to a question she couldn’t even remember hearing.

“W-what?” She’d stuttered, blinking hard and shaking her head as if to rattle her brain into whatever semblance of cognisance she could muster.

Nico had kissed her, and then wanted to talk? As if she had the brain power left for any kind of discussion after that?

He seemed proud of the mess he had made of her, lips lifting at one side, drawing her gaze immediately to every movement they made, so focused on the memory of how pillowy-soft they had felt against hers that she didn’t notice him stepping a little closer, raising a large hand to tuck her hair behind her ear until she flinched at the contact.

“Sunday, Poppy,” he had uttered, unfazed by her skittishness, “Your date, don’t go.”

She had blinked again, completely overwhelmed on every front. She could still taste him on her tongue, he was so close she could smell his cologne, tunnel vision only seeing him in front of her and the hand that cupped the side of her face in her peripheral, her heartbeat echoing through her skull and every nerve, every slight hair on her body, standing as if trying to close the distance between his body and hers.

It was the sensory overload that made her go against all other instincts.

“I can’t.” Her voice had sounded like it hadn’t been used in weeks, croaky and unsure, her next words stammered, “I can’t not go, I mean. I have to go.”

“You don’t have to go, Poppy,”

“No, I do.” That had sounded a little surer, the fog in her brain slowly clearing only for something more tumultuous to pass through in it’s place. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Nico blinked once, then again, frustration clear in the furrow of his thick brows as he seemed to stew on his next words, desperate to say the right thing. There was a prolonged, tense beat, before he had asked, “Have you ever thought we could be more?”

“More?”

“More than friends.”

If her heart hadn’t stopped when he had kissed her, it must have stopped then.

His back straight, eyes looking directly into hers, a hopeful, inquisitive gleam shining from within them - he had never seemed so sure of something for as long as she had known him.

Poppy couldn’t stop the little voice in her head questioning, where the hell has this come from?

“Have you?” She had asked with a eyre of disbelief.

 Not once in the years she had known him had he ever made it seem like they could be more. There had always been an unspeakable, undeniable barrier between them. They were friends. They’d always been friends. Just friends.

Friends who spent most of their free, personal time together, friends who bought each other sentimental gifts they’d never get for anyone else, who shared intimate details about their lives and their pasts, and kissed each others heads like a goodbye ritual. Friends who broke each other’s hearts, seemingly beyond repair, without explanation.

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I mean,” He had paused, breaking eye contact for a second as if wracking his brain for the right answer, sensing a teetering tension between the two of them. “Yeah. Yes. I have.”

She had narrowed her eyes at him, weighing up the possibility in her mind that she wouldn’t have liked any response he gave to her, every prospective answer causing a flood of doubt and uncertainty to crash in rushing, destructive waves through her mind. “Since when?” She’d asked, trying to level her bite.

If he’d ever thought they could be more, what the hell have they been doing all this time?

“Since I met you, I think,” he had shrugged.

Wrong answer, again.

“And you only bring it up when I have a date with someone else?”

She watched a series of antithetical emotions pass through his features, understanding, confusion, acceptance, denial, resilience, cowardice. He had seemed to find the small margins between all of them, when he had come back with, “It’s not because of your date, Poppy.”

“Then why?” She tilted her head as she continued to analyse him, again not sure what she was looking for, or what she wanted to find. That something tumultuous was already whirling within her, too late to be stopped, and Nico could seemingly see the warning signs.

“Why are you getting mad at me, right now?”

“I’m not mad,” she had denied, not even knowing if she was lying or not, “I’m confused. 2 weeks ago, we weren’t even talking, Nico-,”

“You said you forgave me for that.”

“I didn’t-.” She’d cut herself off before she could say something that would upset him, the conversation spiralling so far out of control from the momentary bliss he had provided only minutes ago - but she was too far up shit’s creek without a paddle, there was no turning back. She’d been wanting to have a proper conversation with Nico all week, what better time than the middle of the night on what was now his birthday? “That’s not exactly what I said.”

He had taken a step back, lips parting with an unreleased gasp, the once-hopeful glint in his eyes transforming into hurt. “You don’t forgive me?”

“I didn’t say that either,” she sighed, wanting answers, not to cause him anguish. “Please don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then tell me what the hell is wrong? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t understand where this has come from, Nico! You come in here and kiss me out of nowhere and tell me not to date other people and I’m just supposed to blindly follow along when I don’t get what the hell is happening with you!”

“I think me kissing you makes it pretty obvious what I want to happen, Mohn.” He had tried to ease the tension, his voice level and steady, stepping forward with his hands raised in an attempt to calm her, but she had taken a slight step back, clearly unaffected. 

“It doesn’t.” She’d stopped looking at him at that point, keeping an eye on his feet to watch his encroaching steps. “Nothing about you is obvious. You don’t tell me anything and all I can think about is what I did wrong.”

If he couldn’t see the tears pooling at her lashes, he had to have heard the break in her voice - a sure indicator that she was close to crying - but his steps had stopped, feet seemingly stuck to their place on the hardwood flooring of Poppy’s apartment, and she could feel her heart shatter knowing he wasn’t persisting again.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He tries to reassure her, but it’s no use.

Maybe she would have believed him if he’d held her while he said it, transferred the meaning through touch to her skin, gripping her with every word until she truly understood the weight of them.

“It had to have been something. You don’t just stop wanting to know a person for no reason, Nico, so what was it?” She made her way to her couch, perching on the edge of the seat with her knees pressed together, and looked over to where he remained standing.

She could feel her temper flaring again. 

How could he have the nerve to do this to her - to turn her world upside down in a matter of minutes - and not have the answers she needed to accept it?

“Poppy-,”

“I need to know. I can’t drop it and forget about it, and I’m sorry that I made it seem like I could, but if you want us to move on from this, if you want to come here and kiss me like that, and tell me you don’t want me seeing other people, I need to know what happened.”

“I-,” Nico sighed heavily, shoulders drooping, any confidence and bravado he had displayed after their kiss now a distant memory. “I don’t know.”

She had an immediate, striking thought, that maybe if she asked closed questions, he could give her an answer, and so, with misplaced courage, she asked, “Was it her?”

“What?”

“Your girlfriend. Did she ask you to stop talking to me?”

It was a thought that had been plaguing her for longer than she’d like to admit - unable to shake the idea that maybe Talia had seen one of the texts she had sent, had gone through Nico’s phone and seen any of their older messages, any photos he might have kept on his phone, maybe a memory had come up from snapchat, maybe someone had mentioned Poppy and her curiosity had been piqued. 

Poppy had always thought if she was dating someone, and they had a Poppy, she might feel some type of way about it. 

But her and Nico were just friends.

Nico rounded the couch, sitting on the cushion beside Poppy, their knees knocking as he reached into her lap and took her shaking hands in his.

“Do you really think I’d stop talking to you just because someone asked me to?” Their eyes had met again, sadness brewing in the dark coffee colour surrounding his dilated pupils, and a glassy film coating her own. “Poppy, I would never.”

“I don’t know what to think, Nico, because you won’t tell me.”

“Because it doesn’t make sense! I try wrapping my head around it, try coming up with some kind of explanation, but nothing I say is going to change what I did to you, Poppy.”

Her question before had gotten her an honest response, had elicited something real and undeniable within him - he’d never stop talking to her because someone asked him to. So it was his own decision, subconscious or not. Maybe she could help dig further, she thought.

“Why did you kiss me?” She asked after a beat.

“I,” Nico pondered over it before rushing his answer, a wave of emotion flashing across his face before his eyes locked on hers, ready to let her in. “Because I wanted to.”

That was a start - a simple question, a straightforward answer. 

“Was that the first time that you wanted to?”

“No.”

Poppy could feel some semblance of confidence coming back. Closed questions, concrete answers, she could keep this up.

“When was the last time you wanted to kiss me?”

She could have asked the first - she sure as hell wanted to know it, but if he’d thought of being more the entire time they’d known each other, there was a lingering possibility there were many times - and they would be there until sunrise if they started from the beginning.

“Finnegan’s.” 

“The bar?”

“We went there when we came back after we crashed out of the playoffs, do you remember?”

She remembered.

It had only been a couple of days before Nico had left for his summer back home in Switzerland.

Their loss in Carolina had been devastating, the boys came back broken and defeated, and all just wanted to drown their sorrows before they broke for their off-season. Poppy had been out with Nia and Kelsey and a few other friends at another bar when Jack had responded to her instagram story, saying they’d be at the Irish pub that was a staple within the team, and she should come over and join them.

She had made her way over pretty late, wanting to make sure her friends were okay without her, and arrived when most of the boys were completely shit-faced, past the point of tears and moping and deep into a mass state of hysteria and loud jubilation for the successes along the way.

She had found Nico in a booth in the far corner of the bar, head slumped over the back, eyes seemingly tracing the cracks in the ceiling until she crawled into the bench behind him, leaned over with her elbows resting on either side of his head, and took up his entire view. 

“What’cha doin’?” She’d asked, lips twisting at the sight of his dizzy eyes trying to correct themselves to focus on her. 

He’d quickly given up, pressing his eyes closed to shut out the risk of nausea taking over, the outer corners crinkling, the sides of his nose scrunching and his eyelashes fanning a shadow over his cheekbones - her own eyes were level with his lips, so he couldn’t really hide the way they curved at the quick glimpse of her.

“Suffering,” he had muttered, squinting one eye open to catch a brief, upside down glance of her. Nico was never this down after a few drinks. He was giggly, he was loud, he was touchy and clumsy - he was never the hide away in the corner sad type. “Wanna join me?”

“Always.” She affirmed, making her way around to his side of the booth and sliding in beside him until her bare thigh pressed against the somewhat scratchy linen of the pants he wore. 

“I’m probably not the best company tonight,” He remained in the same position, neck craning so the base of his head could rest atop the back of the seat, and his eyes closed - giving Poppy the perfect opportunity to properly look him over.

The few moments they’d had together, alone, over the past few weeks, he’d been pent up, stressed, overworked and on the brink of eruption, so this was the first time in a long time she’d managed to catch him without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Only, that weight wasn’t so easy to shift.

She saw it in the bags under his eyes, in the unkempt playoff beard he was yet to shave off, in the stuttered way his chest rose and fell with his attempts at deep, calming breaths. 

As she watched him, the corner of her lip tucked between her teeth in contemplation, she knew there was nothing she could say to make him feel better about this. He just had to feel it out, process it in his own way without her interference - but she wanted to be there, at least.

And as much as she wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he did the best he could, and led his team through one of their strongest seasons in recent franchise history, she wanted to provide him comfort in the quiet, too.

“I don’t mind.”

And so, with little trepidation, she placed a hand on his chest, over his heart, and rested her head next to it, glancing up to see the push of a dimple forming on his cheek as his arm stretched around her and welcomed her into his warm embrace.

“You wanted to kiss me then?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Didn’t seem like the right time, though,” he followed up with an answer to a question she hadn’t even asked, yet. “I was leaving too soon and I didn’t want you to think I’d just kissed you because I was drunk and upset.”

Her eyes moved to his lips, a question for herself whirling around in her head. Would she have wanted him to kiss her then? What would have happened in the aftermath? Where would they be now? Would she have thought that? Would she have spent her summer stewing over what it meant, and how his lips had felt against hers?

Before she had much time to think it over, Nico continued, being spurred on by such a distinct memory that he was rolling towards the answer she had been waiting for, and she wasn’t going to stop him to try and decipher her own feelings.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you when I went home, thinking about wanting to kiss you, or not kissing you, and what it all would mean, and I kept trying to distract myself thinking I could just figure it all out when I came back here but then I met Talia, and I felt wrong for thinking about you when I had her.”

That had made sense. Nico was always a guy that would do the right thing. If he had a girlfriend, he wouldn’t think of the prospect of something with someone else, even if that someone was Poppy, and that something was a culmination of years of pent up feelings finally coming together to form something potentially wonderful.

She didn’t quite need or want to hear the rest. Didn’t want to hear how he’d gone looking for a distraction, and found just that. 

Nico was loyal, and for him to maintain that essence of himself, he had to ignore the possibility of Poppy. Some subconscious part within him saw her as a threat to the stability he had with the perfect girl from back home, and he boxed her away to make room for what could be with Talia.

It stung, but he was right. Neither of them could change what had already happened.

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

She’d nodded after only a second, barely even thinking about it.

Jack’s words from New Years Eve rang through her, suck it up and move on.

Nico had his reasons, she had her answers. He wasn’t bored of her, wasn’t tired of her or annoyed by her. He’d been so caught up by his unspoken, untranslated feelings for her that he twisted himself into untangle-able knots that were only just starting to loosen up enough to be picked apart.

“Could you maybe say it?”

“Yeah, I could.” she had said through trembling lips, the hurt in his voice burrowing through her eardrums, lodging itself in her own throat, and dripping slowly but surely into the depths of her chest. “I will.” She had to be more sure, needing to erase any doubt she had planted within him. “I do.”

“You do?”

He still held her hands in his from when he had sat down, palms warm and slightly perspirant from his tight grip around her knuckles.

“I forgive you.”

His mouth twitched into a shaky smile, his eyes catching the soft light and twinkling with emotion, and she definitely wanted to kiss him, then.

She had wondered if this is what he felt when he’d kissed her before, this burning need. Her fingers twitched in his hold, her heart thudded in her chest, and her lips parted in anticipation, until she could finally slam the breaks on her torpedoing thoughts.

“It’s just a lot to process, and I don’t really know how I feel.”

She had wished she could take it back as soon as the words left her mouth, and Nico’s features had folded as he took them in. He broke eye contact almost immediately, head dropping to look down at their hands until he released hers back into her lap. 

“I get it.” He uttered, forcing a smile as he glanced back up at her, briefly. “I sprung this on you out of nowhere, I’m s-,”

“Please don’t apologise,” she interrupted before he could go there, knowing it would send her brain into overdrive if he let even the thought of regret fester between them, “I’m glad you did. I don’t want you to be sorry about it.”

Relief washed over the both of them in a warm, steady stream as he nodded, leaning into the back of the couch, legs spreading as an elongated sigh wracked through his torso. 

He ran a hand through his hair, and Poppy’s eyes flickered to the flex of his fingers, the strain of his wrist, the flash of protruding veins where his sleeve had pulled up with the stretch of his movements. 

His eyes closed, and she took him in just like she had that night in Finnegan’s bar.

She’d had an urge then, a desire even, to provide comfort - to share his burdens, make him forget the pain he had just endured, wash it all away with encouraging words, gentle touches. A shoulder to cry on, two ears to listen, and, albeit she didn’t entirely know it at the time, a whole heart that was his for the taking.

And take it, he did, held it all summer, bent it all sorts of ways out of shape up until New Years Eve, and it was still in his hands. Smushed, dented, squeezed to within an inch of his life, her heart was his.

It was up to her now to figure out what she wanted him to do with it. 

“I made a promise to my mom about the date, Nico, I have to go.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, seemingly resigned to the fact he had maybe been a little too lost in the moment to make such a crazy demand of her. 

“And I think maybe we both need a little time to properly think about what is happening here.”

“Time?” He practically shot up, alarm in his eyes.

“We’ve barely been apart all week, Nico, I think that might be why we’re both so,” she struggled for the right word - pent up, emotional, strung out, “Intense.”

She had known she was emotional, overthinking to the point of ruin, but maybe he was too. Maybe that’s what had led to the kiss, to the outburst of sentiment. They were both in the depths of a pressure cooker of emotions, and some space might do them good to gain a little clarity.

Maybe with a little more time to think on it, to consider what he was admitting to, have a little breathing room, and act more on something concrete than a fleeting in-the-moment feeling, he might change his mind. He deserved the opportunity to do so, she wouldn’t hold it against him.

“How much time do you think you would need?”

“I’m driving up to my parent’s house on Friday, so I would have been away for most of the weekend anyway, maybe we check back in on Monday and see where our heads are at?”

“4 days,” he muttered as if he’d just counted them in his head. “I can do that.”

“Yeah?” He had nodded in response, and there was something like hope that lingered between them, sharing small smiles and gazing through glassy eyes. “You’ll be so busy you won’t even get the chance to miss me.”

She believed it to be true - Nico had his family over, would be spending the latter end of the day with them, and had 2 big home games in a row to worry about. Poppy would be the last thing on his mind.

If she had blinked in the moment, she might have missed the way his observation slipped to her lips, lingered there for a brief second, and glanced back up to flicker between her eyes again. “Not possible.”

“Poppy, have you suffered some kind of brain injury I don’t know about?” Nia’s voice rings through the speaker of the phone pressed to her ear, already supposedly-styled hair fanned out around her as she lays staring at the ceiling, willing herself to get up and go before she’s late.

No matter how much she doesn’t want to go on this date, her mother will kill her if she hears anything other than a glowing review. On time, preened to perfection, polite and sociable. 

“Maybe I hit my head in my sleep at some point,” she thinks out loud, glancing back to the sharp edges of her bedside table and wondering if she could have thudded into it in the night.

Surely she would have a scar or a bruise.

“You must have,” Nia agrees, “That’s the only logical explanation why you’d ever consider telling the guy you’ve been hung up on since you first met him that you need time to think about how you feel,”

“Ni,” Poppy groans, “I called you for advice, not a lecture.”

“If you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes, and you my friend, are a dumbass.”

“In my defence-,”

“Nope!” Poppy doesn’t know what Nia is doing on the other end, but she hears something clatter as if being slammed down on a table in protest, “There is no defence, you’re an idiot.”

“I didn’t know how I felt about it, Ni,” Poppy sighs, sitting up and catching sight of herself in the mirror. She doesn’t know why so much of her time tonight has been wasted trying to look so good when she doesn’t even want to. When she’d gone to visit her parents, her mother had practically given her a full blown rundown of the guy she was meeting.

Tucker Lyon, she can’t help to instinctively roll her eyes at just his name, works in investment grade finance for one of the Big 4 - she hadn’t cared enough to ask which one. His family are property people, her mom had said, and own enough Manhattan real estate to hold some serious power. Priscilla had met his mother years ago at some luncheon in the city, and apparently the two had been in cahoots since then to set their children up.

Poppy doesn’t want to be set up with some walking red flag, biting her tongue over a plate of food too small to satisfy her hunger while he mansplains stocks and shares to her.

She wants to be in whatever bar the guys are holed up in, tucked under Nico’s arm, side practically glued to his, sipping cocktails and celebrating him like he deserves to be celebrated.

But instead, she can admit, she has been a royal idiot.

“I still don’t know, it’s all come at me full force and I don’t understand my feelings.”

“Bullshit!” Nia scoffs, “You knew you were into him the second he first flashed those dimples your way.”

She isn’t entirely wrong.

Poppy had once harboured a slight crush on him. In the very early stages of their friendship. One small enough that when she realised it was completely one-sided - and she was being delusional to ever think his cute nickname for her and his insistence on spending time only with her was anything more than his attempt to make a friend - she could swallow it down until it was barely anything.

She trained her heart not to stutter when he approached her, told her brain to shut up when he flashed her one of those perfect, all consuming smiles, and could cross her arms to restrain her hands from wanting to hold his whenever they walked side by side.

She’d become so good at suppressing her feelings, she’d forgotten she had them.

She had forgotten all the times they had hung out alone over the years, never second guessing all the looks and the touches, the times he’d let her stay over if it got too late to go home alone, and the times he’d waltz into hers like he owned the place.

She’d forgotten when she had seen him with Talia, always claiming the feeling in her gut was one of loss and reminiscence, not envy and bitterness.

She’d forgotten when the Hughes brothers had helped her move a couple months ago, and Luke had questioned the amount of Nico he was helping to scatter throughout her apartment. Pictures on her bookshelf, pictures stuck to her fridge with souvenir magnets from Swiss gift shops, a couple hoodies, Devils branded shorts and big t-shirts of his he’d come across in the boxes. 

“I didn’t realise you and Cap were so close,” Luke had picked a frame out of one of the boxes, the picture of Nico and Poppy at the Halloween party inside, and waved it in her direction as she stood with her hands on her hips, figuring out if she wanted to alphabetise or colour code the books she was displaying. 

“Huh?” Poppy tilted her head towards the tall boy, watching as he shook his curls back into place and ran a hand through them. He’d worked up a bit of a sweat lugging her boxes upstairs, and now that everything was finally moved, Jack had gone to get them food, and Poppy and Luke were getting started on unpacking the easy stuff. She looked to the picture in hand, reaching over and taking it to get a closer look. “I guess we were, I don’t really know.” She wasn't a good enough actress to properly pull off the nonchalance she was aiming for.

“You don’t know?” Luke scoffed, rifling through other pictures in the box - all framed, mostly of her and Nico, some just the two of them, some of them in groups, but always side by side. Always grinning ear to ear. “You’ve got like a shrine in here, PJ,”

“It’s not a shrine,” she had argued, “You don’t keep pictures of your friends? Sounds kind of cold, if you ask me, Moosey.”

“I keep pictures on instagram and my phone like a normal person.” He chuckled.

“Generational gap, you kids are done for when the cloud goes down, you know. Physical media is forever.”

“You sound like my mom.” Luke jibed, and true to his nature, unable to stop himself before he inadvertently crossed a line, he asked with a weird wiggle of his eyebrows, “So, you wanna keep Nico forever, huh?”

“Shut up, Luke.” If Poppy had something soft enough, she would have thrown it at his head. The photo frame in hand seemed like overkill, and she didn’t want to hurt the kid, just make him stop. She didn’t much like talking about him, what they once had, what they once were. Even if he did have the wrong impression of what they were. It was upsetting, and she didn’t want to get upset - not in front of Luke. “You can keep those in the box.”

Luke had reached out for the frame in Poppy’s grasp, had watched as she hesitated giving it back, as she looked down and took in the huge smiles on her and Nico’s faces, and as she made the decision not to put this one back. Maybe she could phase it out, wait until she took a nicer, more meaningful picture with someone else before she replaced that one.

“I’ll keep this one out. I look cute.”

"Sure." His sarcasm was not entirely appreciated.

She had heard him chuckle to himself as she stood the frame on one of the shelves, placing it between a scented candle she had no intention of ever lighting and a small faux lavender plant. Not shrine-like at all.

She’d forgotten about any suppressed feelings until Nico kissed her.

Until he opened up Pandora’s box, releasing all her pent up emotions to roam freely, creating chaos and causing havoc through every corner of her entire existence. 

For the past 3 days, she’s thought about him with everything she has done. 

On Thursday afternoon, sat alone in her office, going over emails and wondering what he would be up to with his family. Was he happy, were they having fun, did he think about her for a second?

On Friday evening, driving alone on the long winding roads to her parent’s house and listening to the commentary for the game on the radio. Making it to the house in time for the 3rd period, and seeing the team celebrate. Was he well rested, excited for his family to watch him play at home, did he look up into the staff suite at the Rock and wish she was there cheering him on?

On Saturday, retreating to her childhood bedroom after another tense family dinner, snuggling up with the dogs on her bed as she watched the game. Was he beating himself up, had he gone straight home on his own after the loss, did he have the same urge to call her as much as she wanted to call him?

Did he, on any of those nights, lay awake thinking about that kiss?

About how right it had felt? How he had exerted his subtle dominance over her with such ease, large hands encompassing her face and holding her to his lips like his life depended on it?

Did he think about where it could have gone if she hadn’t shut him down? Where they could be if he’d made a move before?

She’s been thinking about it. Non-stop thinking about it.

Thinking about that kiss, and the possibility of others - the moment in the bar, all the other potential moments he had wanted to kiss her and hadn’t. The fact that maybe her feelings had never been one sided, and she’s wasted years pushing them down for nothing.

“Do you think I made a mistake not cancelling this date?” She asks her friend in a moment of vulnerability, her mind reeling with the possibility that she has already fucked up what could be.

“No.” Nia assures her, surprisingly. She’s been calling her an idiot all night, what does she mean, ‘no’? “I think he needs to sweat a little, let him think about you out tonight with another guy, and come tomorrow, his mind will be made up.”

“You don’t think we might be overestimating how much it bothers him?”

“Don’t make me call you a dumbass again, Pop.” Poppy can hear the rolling of her best friend’s eyes through the phone. “And send me a picture of your outfit before you leave.”

Nico

Nico has never been so physically uncomfortable in his life.

For a man who plays contact sport for a living - has played it for a good chunk of his existence, and has suffered countless knocks and injuries, slept in one too many uncomfortable positions in planes, buses, trains and even hotel beds, and who’s face has had more than enough encounters with the wrong end of a pair of skates - that is saying a lot.

But every inch of him, every fibre of his entire being, feels irritated in some way.

It’s a feeling like unforeseen static shocks passing over every surface of his skin. Like little bugs crawling all over him and he can’t swat them away. Like random strands of fine hairs that can’t be seen by the naked eye but God, can he feel them. He feels them everywhere.

From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, he feels something prickling, stinging, burning. 

Itchy.

Like a scratch he can’t reach in the very middle of his back.

And it’s not like he doesn’t know what it is.

He’s felt it ever since he left Poppy’s apartment in the early hours of Thursday morning. He had hardly slept, getting maybe 3 or 4 hours in before his alarm shrilled from where it charged on his nightstand. 

He has tried to use the same coping mechanisms that get him through his bouts of homesickness - where he closes his eyes and tries to provoke a memory for each sense.

He pictures the views from one of his many hikes, endless fields of green grass, crystal clear lakes, winding footpaths and mountains that stretch as far as the eye can see. He imagines gathering around a fondue table back in his favourite restaurant, and can smell the freshly baked bread, can taste the melt-in-the-mouth flavour once it’s been dipped in oozing, melted cheese. He can feel the softness of the freshly washed sheets back in his childhood bedroom and can hear the chorused chirps of the birds outside his window in the early mornings. 

It’s a technique that has helped ground him in the past, and he had thought that maybe if he applies the same logic, it will dull the ache in his fingertips that yearn to reach for his phone and text the girl who has asked him for space.

If he thinks hard enough, he can still taste the sweet but subtle vanilla of Poppy’s lip balm. He can smell the fresh-cotton essence of her laundry detergent, can hear the melodic sounds she had hummed into his lips, can feel the softness of her skin on the pads of his fingers, can see, clear as day, the dazed expression etched into her features like she had gotten caught up in the fantasy too.

If it wasn’t so easy for him to mentally transport himself back, he wouldn’t have been able to make it 4 days without seeing her. 

He had known it would be hard, but, thankfully, he thinks he got himself enough of a fix to make it to Monday.

He’d taken all he could with just one press of his lips to hers, had taken more of Poppy than he had ever dared to take before, and his subconscious was clinging onto it for dear life, hoping with everything in him she could decide to give him more.

4 days.

He has never known time to be so cruel. For it to drag out every minute like it was an hour.

If his life had a remote control, best believe he would be jamming the hell out of the fast forward button. 4x speed, skip to the next chapter, not wanting or needing to know what happened in the in-between.

He’s always thought himself to have patience - good things come to those who wait, after all - but this had become the ultimate test.

He had tried to immerse himself in whatever was going on each day, hoping they would pass quicker, less painfully, but it had been no use.

His birthday had passed by in a dizzying blur. He’d had a late morning skate, had come home to his family waiting for him, had gone to dinner with them, caught up over Italian food in one of his favourite spots by his apartment, and had driven his parents, his sister and her boyfriend back to their hotel with the promise of dedicating some time to them before the game on Friday.

Every single thing had reminded him of her.

Being at the Rock and wondering where in the building she might be, and if she was reminded of him with the littlest things. If she was thinking about him, what she was thinking about him. Seeing his family, imagining her place at the table as they all exchanged laughter and stories over pasta and wine. Thinking about what she might contribute to the conversation, how she would get along with his sister, how they’d gang up on him and poke fun, but she’d hold his hand under the table and squeeze to let him know it was all in good humour.

In the locker room after the win against the Blackhawks, trying his best to get involved in the celebrations but just wanting to call her, to hear that she had watched, and was proud of him and the team. And even after the loss against the Canucks, he wanted to hear the same. He wanted to go straight to her place, the passenger seat of his car painfully empty as he drove himself home in complete silence. 

And he had tried his best not to get too into his head about the whole space thing.

Poppy was right, after all. Things had gotten intense.

He had been intense - marching over to her place and kissing her out of nowhere. As right as it had felt, it was stupid. It was hotheaded and impulsive and it wasn’t considerate of her feelings.

But, God, he was so caught up on her he couldn’t help himself. He should have seen in the days they had spent together prior that they needed to speak more about everything before he threw himself at her like a neanderthal. 

He’d only considered what conclusion he had reached, and as much as his conversation with the guys on the plane gave him an idea of Poppy’s mindset, some words needed to be exchanged before he planted one straight on her. The whole thing could have gone so much better if he just knew how to communicate everything with her properly.

Even before the kiss. Before New Years, before Talia, before Summer - if he knew how to speak about his developing feelings for her, this whole mess could have been avoided.

He wouldn’t be sat alone in a bar, yet again, as his friends surround him, partaking in the celebrations that are supposed to revolve around him, wallowing in self pity.

He wouldn’t be thinking about Poppy, out in some fancy restaurant somewhere else in the city, with some stick-up-his-ass loser who doesn’t deserve a second of her time, and imagining her giving him one of those earth shattering smiles - the one where her the outside of her eyes crinkle in the corners, and every time he sees it he imagines the lines settling there as she ages, and it’s always a version of the two of them, old and grey, side by side, smiling together.

He imagines her taking him back to her apartment, curling up with him on the couch Nico helped her haul up the stairs after she had found it for crazy cheap off of some sketchy ad on Facebook marketplace. He sees her slowly replacing all those pictures she has of her and Nico with pictures of her and him, phasing him out of her space like she would eventually phase him out of his life.

He thinks about her taking him to her bedroom - the one he had yet to see in her new apartment, but imagines it’s just like her old one; way too many pillows and throws, a thick, plush duvet that looks like she’s climbing into a cloud, and a beat up stuffed toy her grandmother had given her when she was young. 

He doesn’t want to wish that Poppy is currently welcoming someone into her life that doesn’t suit her, but he can’t help himself.

He hopes this guy is late - and doesn’t even apologise for it. He hopes he orders off the menu for her, or criticises her choice of wine for not pairing with her choice of food like a complete snob. He hopes he’s awful to wait-staff. He hopes he’s type of guy who writes a suggestion on the tip line of his receipt instead of leaving a minimum of 20%. He hopes he chews with his mouth open, spits when he talks and scrapes his knife along the ceramic of his plate as he cuts his food, causing that toe curling sound that makes Poppy want to scream.

He hopes he doesn’t offer her his jacket, because she always refuses to take one out. He hopes he doesn’t think to give her a piggy back, because she always wears shoes out she knows she doesn’t want to walk in, but always wants to walk home if it’s nice out. He hopes he walks on the inside of the sidewalk, leaving her to the dangers of walking roadside, and walks too quick for her to keep up with little regard for how she likes to take her time on a night and stretch the evening out. 

He even hopes he smokes. Poppy hates smokers. And if, God forbid, they kiss, he’ll have smoker’s breath, and she won’t want to do it again. 

She won’t stand in front of him, eyes glazed over, lashes fluttering, brows furrowing, lips still pouting and fingers twitching to reach back out, yearning for more.

She won’t even kiss him back.

Not like she had kissed Nico. Not like she had clutched at his shirt like she wanted to hold him close to her forever. He wouldn’t get to hear that sweet, subdued sound she had made when his tongue had swiped tentatively at hers, or feel that slight pressure of when her lips had closed around it, sucking almost at the muscle before opening back up to allow for more of a taste.

No one else can get that.

No one else will savour it like Nico has, thinking about is for days on end, replaying the moment over and over until he has perfect recall of every small detail.

It’s probably a good thing she hasn’t shared much detail about this date, Nico thinks as he swirls the ice around his empty drink, sat right at the bar away from the sectioned-off area that Timo had rented out for the party.

If he knew more about it - about the who, about the where - he probably would be in a cab by now, knowing he was crossing a line but unable to do anything about it, his will outweighing any common courtesy just as it had a few nights ago. Or he would have spent the last few days in a google deep-dive, trying to figure out the kind of man her mother would approve of. Enough to set her up, at least - he doubts Priscilla Jensen entirely approves of anyone.

Nico finally makes eye contact with the bartender, and as she starts to make her way over, he feels like a divine intervention occurs - an arm falling onto the bar top beside his, a glimmer of metal flashing into his dark eyes - the reflection bouncing from a bracelet that is welded around the base of a slender hand.

“I’ll take another of these,” he lifts his glass when the bartender arrives, gesturing to the old fashioned he’d somehow landed on over beer tonight, “And whatever she’s having, please.”

 “Vodka diet coke, please,” a voice rings out from beside him, and once the bartender busies herself with the order, she asks, “Shouldn’t I be the one getting you a drink? I heard it’s your birthday,”

“Why should either of us pay when it’s going on a tab?” He chuckles, angling his body better to face her. 

“Ooh la-la, a tab,” Nia mocks, “Now I feel like I’m a part of an elite club!”

“I find it hard to believe you’ve never had your drinks put on someone else’s tab before.”

“Not the New Jersey Devils captain himself, it’s such an honour!” She raises a manicured hand and presses it to her chest, a playful smile etched into her features. 

“Did you come over here just to poke fun at me?” Nico asks, touching on the dynamic that has long been between the two of them. She mocks him, mostly all bark and no bite, he takes it on the chest, knowing she’s doing it from of her warped version of almost sibling-like love, and Poppy usually acts as the mostly-unnecessary mediator, dividing her attention between them both. 

“Of course I did,” she affirms, “You looked all mopey and miserable, how could I not?”

“How is me waiting for a drink ‘mopey’?”

“Uh, let me think,” she taps her finger to her chin, before lifting it to point at each feature she references, “The huge pout on your lips, your giant caterpillar eyebrows all slanted and frowny-,”

“Forget I asked,” he mutters, lifting his lips into a quick smile and thanking the girl behind the bar as she brings them their drinks. “Didn’t know you’d be out tonight,”

“I’ll be sure to send you an e-vite to my google calendar when I get home later.”

Nico’s throat tightens slightly at how similar Nia and Poppy are - always quick with a response, most of the time sarcastic, most of the time able to elicit a genuine laugh to rumble from the depths of his chest. “I see why you and Poppy are so close.”

“Hm,” she hums, making a show of checking her phone, “You barely made it two minutes, but it could be a new record.”

“A new record?”

“For how long you can go in conversation without mentioning her.”

“She’s your best friend, the one person we have in common, it’s normal for me to bring her up, Nia.” He reaches for his drink to take a gulp, hoping the ice might make his throat feel a little better.

He doesn’t even know why he’s denying his lack of willpower when it comes to Poppy - 2 minutes actually seems like quite the achievement when he thinks about how long he’s restrained himself from reaching out over the past 4 days. Nia approaching him like this has been the perfect excuse to think about her - to talk about her without feeling like he’s overstepping or assuming.

He could use this to his advantage.

“Is she a good kisser?”

Or not.

He chokes on his drink, thankful the liquid isn’t coming out of his nose with how much he hadn’t been expecting that question.

“She looks like she would be. I’ve always thought about it but there’s never been a right time to try it out. Maybe I should take a leaf outta your book and lay it on thick and fast when she least expects it.”

How he even thought he could gain advantage in this conversation is beyond belief. He’s out of his depth with Nia, as usual. She isn’t afraid to call him out - she never has been - and she’s the one person in the world Poppy would confide in. Of course she knows about the kiss.

“Is that what she said, I laid it on thick and fast,”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, lover boy.” She chuckles, picking up her cocktail and stepping away from him, “Thanks for the drink, Nico, try to enjoy the rest of your birthday party.”

“Wait!” He reaches out to stop her, not wanting to let a golden opportunity slip from his hands so easily. “You would have bought me a drink before, for my birthday?”

“I think you earn about 5 times my annual salary in a month, so probably not.”

“How about you answer a question for me?” He proposes, “As a gift.”

“I could,” she sighs, sitting down in the stool beside him, “But I heard you get touchy after gifts.”

He immediately regrets asking, but not enough to let her go. He’s come this far, and he has 4 days worth of questions he desperately needs answers to.

“Funny,” he gives a condescending smile, which clearly pleases her as she gives a genuine one back, lifting her spare hand to gesture for him to carry on. As if it’s that easy to narrow down all the things he wants to ask her.

One question. 

What did she say about the kiss? Did she like it? Would she do it again?

What did she say about him? About how she feels? About what she wants?

Where is she right now? What did she tell Nia about the date? About the who?

“The guy she’s out with,” he can’t even bring himself to say the D word, “Is he nice?”

The look she gives him is almost pitiful. In fact, there is no almost about it. She clearly thinks he’s pathetic, but it’s too late to retract the question now that it’s out there.

“I don’t think so.”

He doesn’t like the way his stomach turns at her answer.

He had wanted this, right? For him to be a gratuity-withholding, uncouth slob with bad breath. 

But the thought of her being out with someone that has the potential to hurt her, hurts him. His chest feels tight, his head feels muddled, and that everlasting itch returns to the tips of his fingers - the weight of his cellphone becoming that much heavier in his back pocket.

“I mean,” she carries on with a shrug and reaches for her own phone, “He was a no-show, so we’ll never actually know for sure.” She swipes at her phone until she brings up her message thread with Poppy, turning up the brightness to show Nico the picture she had asked her to send earlier. 

It’s a selfie taken in the overly tall mirror she had once made him pick up from Ikea, claiming it wouldn’t fit in her car and his was much bigger, and he doesn’t know why his first instinct is to scan the background just to confirm his earlier intuitions about her bedroom. Too many pillows, cloud-like duvet. He can’t see the stuffed toy, but he assumes it’s somewhere in there.

Poppy looks unbelievable. 

Her dress is short, like the one she had worn on New Years, fits snug around her waist and emphasises her curves in all the best ways. Her legs seem to go on for miles, adorned in knee high boots no doubt to provide some semblance of warmth. Her hair is pulled back, and she wears gold jewellery - rings, some small hoop earrings, and he’s only just able to stop his fingers reaching out to pinch at the screen because he can see the gemstone bracelet without the need to zoom in.

“Can’t be that nice if you’re standing up a girl that gorgeous, huh?” Nia asks, suggestively, leaning her chin into the palm of her spare hand as she looks up at Nico. “Some guys just don’t know how good they’ve got it.”

He figures he actually should be embarrassed about the relief that floods through him - washes over his entire demeanour, expression changing from defeated to victorious in a matter of mere seconds.

The crease that seems to have permanently formed between his brows smooths out, posture corrects itself, and his lips even almost turn up into a smile.

There’s a childish, territorial voice within him that wants to exclaim, Thank God! But he’s grateful that he’s able to mute it.

And, despite being privy to Nia’s games - despite knowing exactly what trap he is being lured into, what he’s about to fall for - he can’t help but suggest, “You should tell her to come out.” Because, despite knowing he had taken the bait, he can’t find it within himself to care. “I think I asked her one too many times to ask again.”

The one thing he had twisted himself into knots over since first hearing her utter the word date, hadn’t actually come to fruition.

There is no date. There is no uncouth slob.

There is Poppy, dressed as pretty as she is, practically waiting for someone to show her a good time. 

He can do that. He wants to do it - to be the someone that’s good to her.

“Oh, should I?” Nia asks, a knowing smirk causing her lips to twitch mischievously. She’s been playing him this whole time, and once again, he doesn’t care. “I don’t know, she seems resigned to spending the evening on her couch watching New Girl,” she sighs dramatically, clearly looking for incentive - once again, reminding him too much of the girl he longs for. “I don’t know if there’s much convincing to be done.”

“I’ll add you to the tab for the night.”

Rookie mistake, offering something up so quick.

“Is that all my efforts are worth to you, Nico, a few measly drinks?”

“What do you want?”

“I’m actually out with a client tonight,” she looks back somewhere toward the other side of the bar, Nico can’t even bring himself to follow her gaze. “Been trying to sign them to my agency for a while, and if I can fix this deal, I’m up for a promotion.”

“Nia,” he warns, not liking how long this story is becoming. Forget good things come to those who wait. He’s waited long enough. “What do you want?”

“They’re big Devils fans, I think a night with the team could really open them up to the benefits of working with me.”

“Bring them into our section.”

“And maybe some tickets, too.”

“Fine.”

Nia gives him a triumphant smile, “Great, I’ll let them know.” She salutes him as she stands back up, gathering her drink and phone between the fingers of one hand before backing away. “Nice doing business with you, Captain.”

“Aren’t you gonna text her?”

“Oh, Nico,” she jeers, using her free hand to grasp him by the chin. “Dear, sweet, naive Nico,” she gives his head a subtle shake before patting at his shoulder condescendingly, “She’s already on her way.”

If anyone asks, Nico isn’t admitting to keeping an eye on the door since Nia had made her way back over to her side of the bar, but he knows as soon as Poppy has arrived. He watches her make her way over to her friend, watches the two of them embrace and talk between themselves for a good minute. He watches and waits until her eyes meet his from across the crowded room, and it’s like everything else stops.

He’d somehow managed to immerse himself in the party spirit since he had found out she was coming, fitting back into the group, toasting along with them, engaging in conversations with his teammates, his mood vastly improved in comparison to earlier in the night - of which he’s sure Timo is relieved after his short-lived exile from Nico’s good graces — but everything fades to black when he sees her lips curve upwards from afar.

Someone is talking beside him - hopefully not to him, he thinks, he doesn’t remember being mid-discussion with anyone - but it’s just drowned out mumbling right now, and all he can do is tilt his head toward the doors that lead to the bathrooms, and wait for her to respond. When she nods and separates herself from Nia, he excuses himself from the group, edging out of their section and following her path, losing her a little in the thick crowd of people - the bar still packed from where they had played the Giants game earlier.

When he gets through the doors, he’s thankful no one else is lingering back there - no rowdy queue for the bathroom, no staff, no one but him and the girl who seems to be holding his heart like a hot potato, not knowing the best way to carry it without getting burned.

“Hi.” It’s a weak starter for a heavy conversation, but if he’s honest with himself, she’s taken his breath away.

The picture from before hadn’t done her justice. She’s a little worn into her look for the evening now, hair not so neat, skin a little shiny, lipstick faded - but this is exactly how he likes her, especially when he takes in the way her eyes gleam and her cheeks puff out with her smile.

He makes a conscious effort not to let his eyes drift directly to the smile - to her lips, which even the thought of them elicits such a vivid memory.

“Surprise!” she sings quietly, arms outstretched and hands shaking theatrically.

He steps toward her with his hands behind his back, fingers clasped together until he’s confident that his knuckles turn white, fighting the urge to curl his arm around her waist and pull her into him, needing to be closer. He watches intently as her eyes flick down to where his hands should be.

She backs into the wall behind her, not to escape his approach, but more to prepare herself for it - like she’s settling in and embracing it.

She isn’t running. She isn’t pushing.

She’s waiting.

“I’ve missed you.” Nico wastes no time in telling her the truth - telling her what she’s refused to believe every other time he’s said it, but he can tell with the tilting of her head and the rounding of her eyes that understanding has settled within her. She has no comeback, no it’s only been a few days, and he thinks she must have felt the drag of them in the same way.

“I’ve missed you, too.” 

Whatever anxiety has rooted itself deep inside him for the past 4 days dissipates almost immediately. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” He admits, without shame or reluctance. After Poppy had helped him overcome whatever had been censoring him before, there is no point now in holding back or beating around the bush. “You look so good, Mohn.”

A rush of confidence allows for him to close the gap, standing right before her as she leans against the wall, neck craning ever so slightly to look up at him. He still won’t touch, hands laying against the stone at either side of her hips, not daring yet to let even a sliver of his finger graze at her flesh.

“You look good, too.” She breathes, eyes glancing down to do an appreciative once over of his outfit, and he doesn’t miss the glint of pride cross through her eyes when she catches the glimpse of the gold that peaks out from the neck of his sweatshirt. 

“I’m sorry about your date.”

“Are you?” Her lips twist into a knowing smile. It’s an example of one of her many traits that he loves - she can detect his bullshit a mile off.

“Mmhm,” he nods, “I’m sorry a world exists where any man is stupid enough to stand you up, Poppy.”

“I’m the stupid one,” she argues, and he misses her gaze as soon as she takes it away, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment. “I should have listened to you and cancelled in the first place.”

“I was stupid to ask that.”

“Maybe we’re both stupid.”

“Definitely.” He probably shouldn’t be agreeing to her calling herself stupid, but it comes out before he can think too much on it. They’ve both wasted too much time. 

“Did you have a good birthday?” She asks, and a slight movement between them catches his eye, her fingers twisting together as if she’s withholding her touch, too.

“It’s better now.” He smiles fondly as she rolls her eyes. 

“How are your family?”

“They’re good.” He doesn’t want to go into too much detail about how shamefully miserable he has been over the past few days - doesn’t want to tell her how his mom had called him out on his lack of contribution to conversations, and he’d managed to pin it on the stress of the season. She still raises a brow at his insufficient answer, and he expands before she can tell him off. “Everyone but Luca made it out, my sister had to go back already for work, but my parents booked a trip to Halifax to visit the Phillips’, I lived with them when I played up there, they have a few friends to visit in Canada but they’ll drop back to see me again before they fly home.”

He feels the tickle of soft fingertips at the inside of his arm, slowly grazing down as he speaks, and as he watches Poppy, he thinks she must not realise she’s doing it - letting intuition take over as she’s distracted by the conversation. He lets her take the lead on initiating any touching, and it takes all the restraint he has left not to barge through the door she’s attempting to slowly eke open. She’s the only person in the world who could make him audibly hear the metaphorical creaking.

“Did they get to watch you win?”

He doesn’t even know why he finds himself grinning at the question, but the tone in which she asks it bears a hint of pride. She had watched the game on Friday.

“My dad was pretty much in the stands in full gear, everything but the pads and skates, and my mom was repping Foundation merch, she’s run off across the border with my beanie.” He likes the way her face lights up.

“I’ll get you another.” She raises her other hand to card her fingers through his hair, and, for once, he’s thankful not to be wearing any sort of hat. The soft scratch of her nails is soothing, and he just about manages to stop himself leaning into her touch and purring like a cat.

That would be embarrassing.

He feels outnumbered, both of her hands on him, and it feels unfair not to be touching her - so when his thumb extends itself on the wall just beside her hip and strokes at the soft fabric of her dress until it’s softly digging in, he watches intently for any hesitation before he lays a palm flat against her side.

It feels like things are progressing both torturously slow and overwhelmingly fast at the same time. His heart feels like it’s slamming into either side of his ribcage, and like nothing else occupies his chest, the sound of it echoing as if banging on the walls of a deep, empty cavern.

“Did I already tell you how much I missed you?” He honestly can’t remember, but he’ll tell her again if he needs to.

The hand that had run through his hair rests now on the side of his head, her thumb swiping softly at his cheek as she cups the side of his face, and before he can even make sense of what is happening, he’s being pulled forward. 

He bends to her advances with quick reflexes to avoid clashing, and their noses bump just before their lips meet.

Her chest rolls forward until it presses into his, and both his hands grab at her sides to pull her flush against him, legs tangling, hips pushing together, bodies touching everywhere possible all the way up to their mouths. 

He gives her all the control otherwise, allows her to determine the pace, responding to her every move and every touch with fervour and heat. She pulls at him, one hand grasping at his sweatshirt and the other cradling the side of his neck, and he quickly lifts one to stifle the blow to her head as she collides back with the wall, barely noticing the pain where his knuckles meet the stone.

Their tongues press together at the same time, and Nico doesn’t even realise his lack of patience got the better of him until their battle for dominance kicks off between their lips.

He can taste the same vanilla lip balm, can smell her signature coconut scent, can hear soft, subtle moans, can only see the back of his eyelids, not daring to open them, just wanting to feel. And he can feel everything. 

He feels the softness of her hair beneath the hand that is protecting her head from the discomfort of resting against the hard surface behind her, can feel the skirt of her dress bunching up in his grip, can feel her touch, fingertips dancing at the the base of his skull, thumb pressing into his jaw, her other hand making that same grabby gesture at the thick fabric covering his torso, squished between his heart and her chest, and he thinks he can feel the thump of her own heart on the other side.

He can feel her thigh pressed between his, the friction causing a heat to build deep in the pit of his stomach, swirling and whirling down, down, down until it culminates into the hard press of his hips into hers, and a rushed gasp combined with a guttural groan causes their lips to part.

They take deep breaths in unison, their chests bumping with every inhale, and he tries otherwise not to move.

He opens his eyes to find hers still closed, scrunched shut, even, and he tries not to be selfish - ignores the need to get a good look at her, to have this version of her ingrained to his memory too - and attempts to coax her back to him.

“Poppy,” he sounds just about as breathless as he feels. “Are you good?”

She hums in response, a subtle nod given, but he needs to hear her say it, and he tells her as much with a quick squeeze to her hip. Her eyes flutter open, gleaming and bright, framed by thick lashes and crinkling slightly at the outer corners as her lips turn up into a mischievous grin. “Better now.”

His chest feels like it’s about to burst open, like there’s a bear within him that is going to break out and pull her into its clutches, dragging her back safe to her home in his heart.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks, because he has to - he doesn’t care if it’s rude to leave his own birthday party, doesn’t care that he’s been the most ungrateful person in the world all night.

He’ll make it up to Timo, get him something big the next birthday of his that rolls around. Throw him a party. Or he’ll take care of the tab the next time they’re out. Maybe even let him have the window seat the next time they’re on the same plane home. 

Except, he won’t be doing any of that. He’ll be taking the reins on booking flights and putting Timo straight into economy, smack-bang in the middle of a row surrounded by a family of 5, screaming kids, arguing parents, the back of his seat being kicked the whole 8 hours to Zurich.

Because, just as Poppy’s swollen lips part to accept his advances - as her chin lifts, about to drop with a big affirmative nod, and he’s about to get everything he’s wanted the past 4 days and beyond - the doors to the back swing open, and his 6 foot teammate stumbles through, arms outstretched as he notices the two of them practically intertwined.

“Here you are!” He exclaims, voice booming in comparison to the soft breathy tones he and Poppy had been previously speaking in. “Poppy, you made it!”

“Hi Timo,” Nico feels her retreat, feels her legs brush past his and back to her own space, her hand on his chest now the only part of her that touches him, and he follows her lead, taking his hands back and trying not to clench his jaw or his fists as she converses with the man who was once his friend. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright, should be back on the ice in a couple weeks.” Timo had suffered an injury in one of their games at the back end of December, and hasn’t been fit to travel, and Nico finds an unspeakably bitter part of himself wishing it was something to do with Timo’s legs that were injured so he couldn’t have interrupted their moment. “Glad you’re here, this one has been miserable all night.”

He can’t be this oblivious, Nico thinks. Why is he still here? Why isn’t he retreating back to the bar and leaving the two of them to whatever he had clearly barged in on.

And when Nico looks back to his teammate, his long time friend, he sees the oh-so-evident glint of mischief and disobedience in his grey-blue eyes.

He is getting his own back.

Nico knows he was petulant to blame Timo for Poppy not being invited, knows there was nothing he could have done to change her going out on a date, or them not speaking for months while he was with Talia.

He doesn’t need him to enact his revenge to see he was wrong to ignore his texts, or to mope around at the party he had put so much effort into. 

He tries to give him a pleading look to stop whatever he is trying to do, but it’s no use.

“The guys will want to see you, Poppy, Jack’s beating himself up about his shoulder, could use a friendly face.”

“Oh,” Poppy casts a glance back to Nico, and he gives her a nod, implying that she go see to her friend. “I’ll go find him.” 

He can wait. He’s waited 4 days. He’s waited years, in fact.

And, after that kiss, he knows he won’t have to wait much longer. 

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Nico mutters in their shared native language once he’s watched Poppy disappear through the doors to the bar, with a quick glance back and an apologetic smile before they closed. 

“Just saving my brooding captain from being arrested for public indecency,” Timo shrugs with a shit-eating grin as he passes Nico and heads toward the bathrooms further down the hall. “You’re welcome!” He calls back in English, raising his hands and giving a patronising thumbs up.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face and wishing it was Poppy’s in its place.

It’s just an hour, maybe two, in the presence of his friends. Drinks, music, everyone in a good mood for the most part. It’s hardly like he’s walking out into a press conference after a 5 game losing streak and about to have all the blame placed upon his shoulders. 

It’s a party. 

Poppy’s here.

He can do this.

He can wait.

Next Chapter

taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw or if I forgot you I'm a muppet tbh)

[dr-futbol-blog]

Before I Sleep, Pt. 4

Sheppard never joins them in the infirmary where they finally discover who the mystery woman is. For what ever reason, he chose not to follow them there just then.

They have a meeting about it in the meeting room, and we next find Sheppard and McKay seated opposite each other. They are much further apart now but with a clear eye sight to the other. They are both also seated at the ends of the table with the least amount of obstacle between them. Sheppard is making use of having a clear line of sight to McKay, too, mostly looking at him and not at the person speaking. The shot is framed so that we we are not shown them looking at one another, just out of frame--and we will see this kind of editing more and more; they use negative space that requires the viewer to actively use their imagination to complete the picture. But they are positioned in such a way that it's clear who they are looking at. They are also mirroring each other, both holding their left hand up.

Sheppard's eyes keep drifting to McKay even when he's trying to pay attention to the person speaking. And he's not so much resting his chin on his hand as he is pressing his fingers against his own lips. This is called autoerotic touching that results from the skin of the mouth becoming increasingly sensitive to touch and other stimulation when someone is, you know, turned on.

McKay, on the other hand, is doing the hand thing again. I once wrote a long treatise on Jensen Ackles having made an acting choice to do a similar gesture every time Dean Winchester was trying to not be turned on by something. Just to throw that out there.

It seems like the older Weir is a time-traveler prompting them to discuss the topic. McKay, who seemed to be a little bit offended by her "[Missed you all so terribly,]--even you, Rodney!" which makes it sound as though one would not miss him under any normal circumstances, isn't ready to believe her at face value. We don't actually know how well Weir and McKay knew each other before the expedition but certainly the events of the past few months have brought them closer together, has given them an opportunity to get to know the other person in a way that they never could have an Earth. But it's certainly possible that even Old Weir had known McKay enough to suspect that he would simply not believe he was included in the group of people she had missed unless she literally, explicitly told him so. Regardless, McKay isn't just ready to accept her claims as being true:

McKay: Well, let's not be too quick to exclude the possibility that the woman might be, um, what is the clinical term… nuts? Weir: She may be senile, yes, but that doesn't explain that she knows so much about all of us. Ford: Is time travel even possible?

Sheppard's expression indicates that he agrees with McKay's assessment, which must come as such a shock to Weir. She would probably be more surprised if they ever disagreed on something. Unlike previously in the lab, this time McKay chooses to answer Ford's question as it's relevant. A really cute moment happens then:

McKay: Well, according to Einstein's General Theory of Relativity, there's nothing in the laws of physics to prevent it. Extremely difficult to achieve, mind you -- you need the technology to manipulate black holes to create wormholes not only through points in space but time. Sheppard: Not to mention a really nice DeLorean. McKay: Don't even get me started on that movie... Sheppard: I like that movie!

Sheppard makes a reference to a well-known science fiction film, probably thinking that because it's science fiction, McKay might enjoy it. He catches the reference, obviously, but reacts in the way that people who were likely picked on in high school for their genuine interest in science often do--ridiculing the make-believe science part of science fiction to assert superiority that is really just trying to mask feelings of inferiority. It's a good movie, it's a good story, most people enjoy it. What's not to like? But he has to pretend he's above the fictional timey wimey stuff being a real scientist. He has a reputation to maintain.

Only, Sheppard seems so comically betrayed by his response. He had expected McKay to have liked it. And he tells him that he likes it, like it's supposed to mean something to McKay. He doesn't say "I like that movie!" as though he's offended, he's saying "I like that movie!" in a genuine childlike way, raising his eye brows like he's saying that since he likes the movie and McKay likes him, he has to like the movie too.

When you're still getting to know one another, you've got to at least pretend to like the things the person you like likes. It's in the rules. If they had access to films and the nearest copy of the movie wasn't in another galaxy, McKay would have had an unavoidable evening of watching the film with Sheppard in his near future. And yet, in spite of McKay's reaction, he still chose to share this with him. Sheppard chose to make himself vulnerable, the man who very seldom shares any personal information about himself. Yes, other people were present for this, but it is clearly to McKay that he said all of it. He wasn't entertaining the whole class with his humour, he was flirting with McKay.

So, Sheppard likes Back to the Future. There are many reasons why he might. He is fond of cheesy science fiction, this we already know. Perhaps the idea that one might be able to go back and remake one's life, to get a happily ever after, to get a better version of your family appeals to him. Perhaps he liked the romance of it, and we learn over the seasons that he does have a fondness for romantic stories like The Princess Bride (and War and Peace). Perhaps he wished that he had someone like Doc Brown in his life when he was a child, a safe if quirky adult he could have turned to instead of his parents. He also likes things that go fast, although he has specified that as "anything that goes more than two hundred miles per hour" in Rising (S0101).

Many, many reasons.

The thing is, Marty McFly is eroticized in the film. He is the object of his mother's desire, and hence there's a an objectifying gaze on him. His father, on the other hand, thinks that Marty has the hots for him due to the focused attention he is giving him, and since his masculinity is already being ridiculed by the school bullies, he tries to keep him at a distance. It's a kind of a love triangle that flirts with incestuous themes. But because of this, Marty McFly is eroticized in a way that few male protagonists ever are in mainstream films. Usually, the audience's gaze is the male gaze and you would see this kind of objectification only in "chick flicks". But we are asked to look at Marty McFly through both his mother's eyes and his father's eyes, both of whom view him in erotic terms in their own ways, which creates a very interesting, very different gaze that we as the audience put on the character. And this gives young boys that are still exploring their sexuality permission to look at him with desire. After all, it's an action film, it's a science fiction film, and it just happens to have a lot of romance in it, have romance at the heart of it. So it's easy to see why Sheppard would have liked it.

Also, one of the reasons George McFly is bullied in the film is his love of science fiction. If McKay had been bullied at school, which we later learn that he was (McKay and Mrs Miller, S03E08), he might over-identify with the character (and, given his name, people might even have used the name McFly to tease him; "Hey McFly, I'm talking to you, you Irish bug!").* And yet, Sheppard admires George McFly since he shares the character's love of science fiction. He admires Doc Brown for being a genius scientist. He admires Rodney McKay. This is what he was trying to communicate. And once more, it's McKay's negative self-image that keeps him from understanding this.

Even after he's offended Sheppard to his very core by insulting one of his favourite movies, Sheppard still has his entire body turned toward McKay (and away from the women) while he's politely trying to follow other things happening in the room. The focus of his attention is clear. John Sheppard knows what he's about.

Continued in Pt. 5

.*McFly seems to be a name made up just for the film whereas McKay is an actual name of both Scottish and Irish derivation. We don't know the origin of McKay's family, and given that the name Meredith is Welsh, the family seems to be of a general Gaelic derivation. But it's interesting and, perhaps, not coincidental that in Scotland Mckay is a gender-neutral name meaning happy, rejoicing... as in, gay. Rodney McKay is literally gay.

Children being cruel, they might also have called him McGay (also a real Gaelic name), which may later have increased his desire to take a beautiful woman to the equivalent of his class reunion where people still assumed that it must be his sister--and not just or even predominately because they simply thought Rodney McKay couldn't get a woman. But we'll get back to that with Brain Storm (S05E16), where Malcolm Tunney ("One of my old… this guy") was most definitely his ex.

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC REVIEW: A Fate Inked in Blood by Danielle L. Jensen

4.5/5. Releases 2/27/24.

Heat Index: 6.5/10.

Vibes: vIKINGS!!!!, slutty guy/serious girl, "oops I'm married to your dad", and legitimately intense battle and magic stuff that actually works and puts people in those heartrending situations where it's all "STAY ALIVE!!!!! I WILL FIND YOU!!!!!!!!!" as it should in a FANTASY ROMANCE

Married to a man she hates and hiding the fact that she's the child of a minor goddess (children of gods are a Thing in this world) Freya lives a life of drudgery. Until, that is, her secret is revealed to all and Jarl Snorri declares that she's a prophesied shieldmaiden, meant to clinch him the kingdom he's always wanted. As such, she must marry him--kind of an issue, as she is very, very attracted to Snorri's son Bjorn. Another issue: Bjorn has been bound to Freya as her protector. On top of everything, Freya's goddess-given abilities are obscure but dangerous, leading her to wonder if her fate is less that of a protector than that of a monster...

OOOOH WE'VE GOT SOMETHING HERE. I've read Danielle L. Jensen before, way back in the day with her Malediction books--but those were YA (albeit, pretty hot YA) and I really don't read YA anymore. However, I do like Viking Shit, and I especially liked the idea of a romance between a Viking lady and her husband's SON, which was something I always wanted to happen on Vikings. So I picked it up.

And dude. It sucked me right in. I am, as I will get into more below, kind of a hard sell on fantasy romance--when it works, I am HOOKED but when it doesn't I am quickly turned off. This is the former. I was so drawn to Freya, a heroine who does have Chosen One aspects, but is also very human and just trying to make it work, one battle at a time. (Also? She's not instantly gREAT at fighting, how refreshing.) And I absolutely fell head over heels dumb girl for our hero Bjorn, who I expected to be a stoic silent warrior type. NO. He's so much better. He's like, an amazing warrior--but is also so funny and super slutty and just a BRO. I love him. Protect him.

The fantasy plot is compelling and doesn't get so in love with itself that it's impossible to follow. It's really good! I'm excited by this! Can't wait for the next! (What a relief, God.)

Quick Takes:

Here's my issue with fantasy romance (or romantasy, though I'll point out that this series is billed as "fantasy romance" on Netgalley, and that is so HOT to me): often, though the name implies that it's a subgenre of romance with a heavy fantasy bent... It's basically fantasy (well-done or not) with a romance subplot tucked in. The character work is shoddy, the tension is nil, and you can tell that the author is just trying to horn in on the romance audience. Not so, here. 

First off, I think Jensen was really smart to create a fantasy world that is very "Vikings But Fantasy". It's not poorly drawn. You can tell that she's really into the Norse vibe, and I will say that I am biased because as someone who has somehow been watching the Vikings franchise since its inception (pray for me) I'm fairly familiar with it on that level. But the way she weaves the fantasy elements, most distinctly the idea of these empowered children of gods (who are basically made when their mortal parents HAVE THREESOMES WITH GODS??? Amazing. Just imagine having these superpowers and knowing that it's because your parents took some dude home from the bar one night and he turned out to be Thor.) into the story is really natural.

Secondly... There is a really compelling plot, yes. I am really into the duality of Freya, don't get me wrong. I really like the royal intrigue. All the WIFE DRAMA. It's My Brand. But the real heart of this story, very openly and honestly and presented without any self-consciousness, is Freya and Bjorn. And I think Jensen just lays it all out there the moment she introduces the brilliant plot device of "Bjorn's Dad, Who Freya Is Technically Married To, Wants Bjorn To Follow Freya Around And Make Sure She Doesn't Get Into Danger". Oh, so he's supposed to protect her as she hurtles into adventure and fights Viking zombies and shit? HOW CONVENIENT. Throughout the story, their immediate physical attraction melts into this emotional slow burn... and I am also a hard sell on a slow burn, so thank you for doing it right, Danielle. The book is single POV (Freya's, though I wouldn't mind Bjorn's in a future installment) but you can just tell that Bjorn is so mad that he's this into a woman who is technically his stepmother. Like, he can have anyone! But he wants HER. But he can't have her! 

Picture me gobbling this up like a raccoon in a trash can.

--Speaking of! If you're all "ew, I hate that Freya is married to his dad"--no spoilers, but this is dealt with in a way that I think both avoids the ick that some readers (to be clear: not me, I am very resistant to ick) may feel over that setup, and avoids a copout. 

At the same time... First off, Bjorn doesn't fully know that the ick has been avoided, and to be frank, I don't think Bjorn really cares about a little ick. But he does have like, you know, the "WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME" vibe for a while, and it is delicious. All very illicitaffairs.mp3.

--I also really loved that there is no mistake about Freya being a GROWN WOMAN. I strongly, strongly object to shelving this as New Adult, because regardless of her age, Freya (and honestly Bjorn as well) has been through a lot. She's literally married when we open this novel. She gets a second husband. She is not a virgin; her marriage was not chaste; it sucked. (To be clear: you don't get a lot of insight into Freya's first marriage beyond "it sucked" because it's dealt with pretty quickly. You don't see any sexual assault on the page in this book, and I don't know that Freya would see it that way? It's alluded to as "lie back and think of England" bad, gross sex, which I think suggests assault, but there is not any explicit violence, sexual or otherwise, depicted in either of her marriages.) She is JADED. She has never had a man like, take care of her.

And then she gets linked up with local dude who's snarking at her horrible husband about how he must not go down on her enough, and she's all "WHAT'S THAT MEAN :/". I really, really enjoy a pairing that involves a tough woman who's never been properly taken care of and a man who's like "I am DESPERATE to take care of you". Freya deserves!

--Another good choice: often, in fantasy romance (or at least in fantasy romance of yore; I feel like there has been a recent push to correct this, at least somewhat) the heroine is hypercompetent. She's smart, she's a good fighter, she's a femme fatale, she's the seventeen-year-old master assassin...

Freya is... a person. She does want to fight, and she is--not surprisingly, as she does come from a culture in which women do fight--not incapable of holding her own. Somewhat. But as soon as she's up against a master warrior like Bjorn, she's kind of not great, Bob, and even with the benefit of her goddess-given abilities, she still has a lot to learn. It's giving "Book One Aang", and I'm good with that. I'm actually much happier with her giving Book One Aang as a twenty-something woman because like? Give us hope, Freya.

She also doesn't have all the answers. Frankly, Freya doesn't have 80% of the answers, and she shouldn't, because she's new to this. She's new to the magic stuff (though she knew she had it, which I did like--she's not an Alina Starkov-level "WHAAAT" about it) and she's new to the court intrigue, and frankly she's new to Hot Dudes. Speaking of, she does spend a decent amount of brain time going "STOP! STOP, SELF! DO NOT LOOK! DO NOT TOUCH!" Which, frankly, I loved. I feel like that's the kind of behavior people are going to be annoying about because people are dying, but like. This woman just spent years surrounded by Village 2's and suddenly she's being swung around and guarded by a very flirtatious Royal 12. Give her a break. I would be much worse. 

And she doesn't know what the hell she's doing with this man. She knows the mechanics, but she doesn't know the FINESSE. Speaking of...

The Sex:

The reason why I'm between a 6 and a 7 on this (and that's not quality, that's literally just how hot the book is re: sex acts) is that the story is a slow burn. Everything sexy happens in the back half, and you don't get to the full shebang until pretty late in the game. It's ABOUT THE YEARNING.

However, I think this was a good choice, and when we do get those scenes they are super hot (and explicit, though not like Sierra Simone explicit to be clear) and passionate and you definitely get the sense that it's this giant deal for these two. I was quite touched. I was like "awww" but also "oh" which is where I want to be when a story builds to two people hooking up for that long.

And Jensen fully takes advantage of the "Vikings" component and does have some "under the sleeping furs with 76 people sleeping in the near vicinity but we just need to get this done" action here. Which. Brava.

I'll be honest--I was worried about this, as I feel like I've been let down by a great fantasy romance in the past. I, much like several people in this novel, have been burned before. Not so here. I'm fully on board. I loved where we left off, and I cannot wait to see where those two crazy kids go next. Hopefully, like. To Vikings divorce court. So she can end that marriage to his dad.

Thanks to Netgalley and Del Rey for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

Preorder:

Amazon

B&N

Bookshop.org

[eisforeidolon]

OMG, the script said Dean "can't" reciprocate, not that he "doesn't"! This means he must have wanted to and a vast queer-suppression conspiracy at the CW totally exists!!! [X]

Just... The extent to which being a heller seems to make you absolutely blind to how other conclusions besides the one you desperately want to be true aren't magically wished out of existence just by waffling in circles chasing your own tail on and on and on...

She's trying to make the difference in Castiel's speech that leaves ambiguity - I love you versus I'm in love with you - happen in the opposite direction with that script note. Except it doesn't work, because there is no such fundamental difference in usage meaning of can't and doesn't built in there. She desperately wants can't to mean there HAS TO be some kind of external pressure there. Except whereas nobody would intentionally say "I'm in love with you like a brother"? You can switch out can't and doesn't and they work equally well to mean functionally the same thing. Let's take the potential reasons mentioned:

Dean can't reciprocate because he has no such feelings for Castiel. Dean doesn't reciprocate because he has no such feelings for Castiel.

In the canon itself, Dean made it clear his feelings about Castiel were friendly/familial/brotherly over and over again. Jensen has made it clear over and over again how he sees, and how he was choosing to portray, Dean and Castiel's relationship - if we're going to count actor's statements as word of god, it's fucking absurd to pretend anyone else's count more than the actor actually making the choices in depicting what his emotions are. Even after the goodbye scene, Jensen's statements haven't changed - except to add speculation that angels may not even understand love in the same way humans do. Putting aside whether Dean was even sure enough of what he meant, given the ambiguity? Dean simply not feeling the same fits with everything we know (and they deny) about canon Dean. Whether that's the same in terms of romantic love, or the same in terms of the level of effusive word vomit Castiel was spewing out.

Dean can't reciprocate because he's too shocked in the moment. Dean doesn't reciprocate because he's too shocked in the moment.

Except in the canon itself, we see how Dean reacts after he's had time to process. While the Winchesters still worried about Chuck destroying the world, sure, Dean does seem excited at the implication Castiel might have been resurrected again - when they still need any allies on their side they can get. But when the apocalyptic shit is all over? When Sam brings up missing Castiel, Dean basically shrugs it off and says they should live their lives. When Dean gets to heaven and Bobby mentions Castiel helping Jack, Dean just goes and drives in his car. He doesn't ask if Castiel is in heaven, ask how to find him, seem to care, nothing. If we count TW, there's still no Castiel and no mention of Castiel in Dean's vicinity. Sam is Dean's reason (still). Bobby and Jack are there. Castiel? [insert bad negative space meta here] If he really felt twue lurve for the angel and just needed time to process as they have been insisting since, like, season four? It should be pretty clear at this point the amount of time to process that non-existent feeling into canon reality is fucking infinity.

Dean can't reciprocate because Bobo's hand got slapped. Dean doesn't reciprocate because Bobo's hand got slapped.

Except outside of canon, in the real world, not their conspiracy theorist fantasies? We were directly told that reciprocation was never even pitched. Nobody got their hand slapped down, because Berens and Misha knew nobody would give a fuck if they threw away what was left of Castiel's character in their shitty last minute queerbait, but dragging Dean down with him was a different story. In the hellers' heads, because they desperately want it to be so, D/C is some truism of the universe that is poised to spring into being if only the haters would stop holding it back!!! Out of a whole room of writers and executive producers - including a few who variously said they had not, were not, and would not be writing any kind of canon lurve story between those two characters? One bitter hack who knew what he could (and couldn't) get away with and therefore didn't even try to legit make it canon is not some conspiracy. Bobo the clown isn't some universal truth teller of ThE ReAL stOrY of SpN fighting for great justice just because he gave them the closest thing to validation they were gonna get (as ambiguous, one-sided, and utterly cringe as it was). No matter how many times they lie about it, before the takeover the CW was one of the - if not the most - friendly network(s) towards LGBT+ content. Nobody even seriously considering making your single specific OOC ship canon is not oppression or censorship FFS.

[thepagemistress]

SPN Rewatch 1x06 - Skin

I think this is one of the most memorable episodes of the season, for several reasons. It’s the first time we really start to unpick the relationship between Sam and Dean and the underlying friction there (especially from Dean’s point of view) and it’s also the first time that they run into the authorities with their real identities so there’s more at stake.

The most interesting is, of course, the different attitudes Sam and Dean have to the hunting lifestyle. Dean is adamant that it’s a solo ‘career’, you can’t have outside relationships, there’s no way of balancing the two. It’s an interesting take considering what we know later, with Cassie for example, because he has shown a desire to mix the two so he’s either talking from the experience of that backfiring or the fact that he got a verbal beatdown from John about it and now he’s doing the same to Sam. Clearly it’s not something he wants to believe because he does desire those kind of connections and a sense of normalcy, as the shifter points out, but he doesn’t believe he’ll ever get it or deserve it because the job comes first and that’s his primary responsibility. He also gets hung up on the fact that Sam lies to his friends. Another reason Dean can’t mix the two is because, again, as we’ve seen, he wants to be able to be open with the people he cares about. He values trust a lot.

Then on the other side of the coin, we’ve got Sam. Sam who is still in touch with his college friends, unbeknownst to Dean. Because in Sam’s mind, once the Jessica case is resolved, he can go back to his old life and try again for that normality. Something that Dean can’t even comprehend and ultimately resents. But by the end, Sam has to acknowledge that he didn’t really feel like he fit in at Stanford anyway and that normalcy is probably beyond him. The damage has already been done. John never gave them a chance. And this is before they even know half the shit they’re actually wrapped up in!

I think it’s a really interesting insight into this dynamic and I like how they played it through a shapeshifter. It’s unsettling and it’s invasive, a creature that can dig through all your thoughts and use them against you. It’s one of the cooler enemies the show has, I think. Especially when there’s some depth thrown in there too. The shifter is kind of in the same position, never being given a shot at a normal life but desperately wanting one. It’s all just pretty tragic.

Favourite part: The confrontation between shifter!Dean and Sam.

Least favourite part: It’s a bit too torture-porny for my tastes. Also all the misogyny and the incel-ness of it.

Quote of the episode: “Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later everybody’s gonna leave me.” – I know it’s the shifter talking as Dean but my heeeeeeart 😭 Mr Abandonment Issues.

What’s compelling me to keep watching: Nothing specific, it’s just good shit right now.

Random things I yelled to myself during the rewatch: “Sam’s all about finding John until it’s his friends in trouble huh” “Dean ‘yes ands’ Sam even when he clearly doesn’t want to” “seeing Baby with spotlights is just weird” “man I forgot how gross the transformation was, they really went for it” “everyone should appreciate Dean more than they do, good point Mr Shifter” “did John ever hear about Dean dying??”

Rating: 8/10 – a creepy MOTW and some meaty character work: a nice combo.

And the award goes to…🏆: Uh oh, it’s going to Jensen again. I just really like the subtle difference in the way he plays the shifter compared to Dean.

[crumbsssscookie]

Quick return back to the prema arc (mainly because I just watched the food challenge video for old times sake) but imagine being Oscar there. An old childhood friend you haven't really connected with for a while shows up, knows all of the questions about you, knocks you off your feet with love, and now you have to feed them snacks while she's blindfolded.

Notable moments:

-Logan fussing over her hair, Oscar laughing saying her hair isn't ruined

-Oscar adjusting the lobster bib Prema forced Logan and Fred to wear

-Oscar hand feeding Logan a tangerine that gets juice all over them - also Logan not knowing the difference between an orange and a tangerine

-Oscar jumping to take a food item that Logan finds gross

-OSCAR FEEDING LOGAN A BUNCH OF MARSHMALLOWS UNTIL SHE CANT BREATHE

Oscar definitely blushes so badly when Prema tells them what they're filming, and it's made even worse given how excited Logan is for it. Just teenage boy forced to be so up close and personal with their brand new crush shenanigans. Fred really does deserve to sue these two for emotional damages.

(And because I'm me- Nico and Jensen one day seeing snippets of this and both texting Mark to get his boy in line)

🩵

OMG, YES, I also have thoughts about the Drivers vs. Italian vid, but first the food challenge! While Oscar is on the verge of coming untouched by now, Logan's unfazed because they did goofy stuff like this all the time in her past life.

the fussing over hair would 100% happen again, also Oscar laughing but being on the brink of tears because he get's a sniff of Logan's shampoo (it's coconut)

With the lobster bib, Logan wouldn't think twice about it. Meanwhile Oscar letting his fingers linger just a little bit too long and struggling to keep his cool because, like, why was he compelled to do that und why did it feel so intimate? (also this bit being the reason Nico and Jense freak out)

The bit with the tangerine would be downright pornografic from Oscars POV

The marshmallows, pure chaos. That's the point where Oscar realizes that Logan is absolutely fine with him touching her and joking around with him, so he overshoots a bit 🤭 Fred, in the background, not really being able to interpret the accompanying noices, wondering if he should let them be or step in and save them from doing something they would regret

WHEN LOGAN CATEGORICALLY DENIES TRYING THE BEANS?! Oscar, can't be helped to play knight in shining armor. He HAS to protect his woman!

Bonus

Oscar pulling up his pants on a regular basis (like he has forgotten to wear a belt) in the OG video. This time it's to discreetly hide the fact that he's half hard by the end of the shoot and thanking the high heavens that he decided to wear black pants that morning

Now for the drivers vs. italian

Logan having picked up enough italian words to say for real this time that she is practically fluent, so she's actually quite good and helping Oscar with the words (bc let's face it, Fred was mentally checked out at that point). But at some point she looses paitience and solves the "You can't command the heart" one on her own and Oscar turns red like a tomato because it just describes the whole week he's had. And later when a couple of sentences contain the word wife, he also sports a little blush.

Also Oscar's brain short-circuiting bc Logan speaks Italian

Edit: I completely forgot, I wanted to add a picture of Prema aged girl!Logan 👀

[gabaghoul-fandom-meme-queen]

Ok, some Winchesters theories coming up! So, we remember that the trailer for The Winchesters has a literal video of Cas' shadow in it. And in the latest Winchesters' episode we see this image from a previous episode of Supernatural. SO this could be a couple things... (1) The CW has limited resources and money and is lazy so they reuse videos and images (2) we are meant to find them and they mean something for the end of the show. I choose to believe the 2nd since I have put my clown shoes back on. So, running theory is; time travel is obviously happening again, angels are involved (hence the Cas video and literal Gabriel in the latest Winchesters episode). BUT WHYYYYYY Like, we know that Dean is telling us the story of his parents meeting. We can assume that this is him telling us post finale given the car having OG plates and the samulet hanging. Dean is not wearing his finale or heaven outfit though (good discourse on that here). So, we can assume this means something as well; he wears this outfit in 15x8 and 15x9 (The Trap - episodes that have Dean and Cas working through the some couply shit and traveling to Purgatory - so other planes). Ok, so back to S1E8 of The Winchesters, we know that Dean gave John the letter that effectively changed history/the story. So, Dean had to have traveled back in time to do this, likely by help of angels, post finale.

But, again, WHY What is Dean (and the angels - but likely just Cas) trying to change? What's the motive? If we make the assumptions that this is happening post finale (with our other assumptions made above) and we believe Jensen when he says it will stay within cannon, we can assume that this is not, technically, a prequal, but a continuation of the original. But, to play Lucifer's advocate with myself, how does that storyline get a second season? Potential theories:

It turns out that something is wrong in heaven or Jack and Cas cant keep the heaven light on and if heaven goes out the world does so they have to go back in time to fix shit?

Or, baddies from other worlds (akrida) are causing havoc in the world when they have not (did not in SPN timeline/cannon) so now (post finale timeline) they have to go back and fix it by Dean giving John the letter. And Sam is not involved because he is not in heaven yet and can go back to help out?

-- OR -- If we go with the evidence and the lazy version of typical time travel (and CW) story telling, we will assume that Dean, in heaven (or not) , is telling us the true story of how his parents met which was this exact story that is happening in The Winchesters. Like, Dean has traveled back in time before. That photo that Mary and John look at in S1E8 is from SPN S6E9. Maybe, Dean traveled back in time around that time to maybe stop the whole SPN timeline from happening to try to save more people, and they got their minds wiped given the Akrida are other wordly crazy monsters etc etc. Thats why the story of John and Mary meeting in The Winchesters is so similar but a little different than the SPN timeline. Maybe thats why there is differing, kind of, stories of thier meeting. And, you could plot right over that by saying, to make the appocolypse happen they wiped the minds, and made them fall in love (like SPN cannon).

But this does not explain the Cas barn scene in the trailer or why Dean is wearing a different outfit in the narration scene in S1E1. But, Lucifers Advocate, this can be explained away by them using the Cas scene to bait us and Jensen just liking that outfit lol. BUT Daneel is #1 heller and the twitter accounts like all the destiel stuff so, at least, they know that is marketable, SOOOOOO it has to happen, it just has to! ------ If you have made it this far, congratulations, you have officially fit into the clown car with me. I will live here, with my clown shoes on, and believe Cas is coming back to us, that him and Dean are having fun, gay, adventures in heaven

[found--family]

i originally thought the plan for s2 might include Turner having flashbacks of being raised by Bruce while he trains to be the next Batman so Jensen could legit play the role of Bruce/Batman but what if instead/as well as that we got Two-Face hallucinating Bruce? at first Harvey thinks he survived somehow but then suddenly his face is bloody and he's wearing the cracked mask and Harvey's heart breaks again - or maybe the first time Harvey sees Hallucibruce it's pre-empted by Harvey finding his cracked bloodied mask on the floor and he picks it up and cradles it. imagine Hallucibruce trying to convince Harvey to do the right thing and dark!Harv cutting in with the white knight and the dark knight are the same: both dead. i can see Bruce not wanting to give dark!Harv the time of day maybe getting jaw-twitchy every time he interrupts. at first Harvey has seemingly given up and is just tired and broken and letting dark!Harv steer, but Hallibruce keeps talking keeps engaging him with shared memories and reasoning and Harvey almost comes around to it with tentative hope - but then he's swayed by dark!Harv's silver tongue. and the last time we see Hallibruce is when Two-Face turns and leaves to enact a deadly plan and Hallucibruce is consumed by shadow.. 

[fandom-hoarder]

I just saw you reblog a post about Misha and Jared being overlooked for good acting vs Jensen. And I agreed with OP and your tags about Jared and Misha.

I think Misha had his areas of strength, but Casifer was more of a caricature or copy-cat of Mark P Lucifer, rather than Lucifer in Jimmy’s body (or Cass’ vessel). For example, Jared made Lucifer his own but there was still a tie to Mark’s version with his menace and condescension. I believe Misha can act, and there is one episode where I think he played lucifer well, but stopped really trying because Apocalypse Cass and The Empty Cass are frankly embarrassing.

Another point that was brought up is that some people overlook that Jared is good because they hate Sam or hate Jared, which I think is true but those peoples opinions aren’t valid because they have an agenda. But I also think it’s that Jensen/Dean are scene stealers and are often more animated, so the casual enjoyer is likely going to be drawn to him. Then he pulls out the emotion and it catches you because he’s usually fun. On the other hand Jared/Sam are more of a steady presence on SPN, most of the time, so it can be easier to not focus on him.

But what I’ve found on rewatches is that, while I initially was drawn to Dean and his expressive eyes, I’m now drawn more often to Sam and the nuances of what he’s doing, especially when he’s playing Not!Sam or Sick!Sam, but I still mostly love their scenes together most.

Though I think both actors have their strengths, I think Jared is truly stronger at physically embodying different characters, and Jensen often gets a stronger emotional response but I’d add a caveat to that because I’ve also noticed a difference in the quality of writing for emotional Sam lines vs emotional Dean lines at times, especially early seasons vs late seasons dialogue.

Anyway, sorry this got so long. I’m not even sure if you usually do asks. But I just had to comment because I find it so frustrating how a loud group praises Jensen skill and dumps on Jared when the truth is they and their characters are doing different things for different purposes, but both are good actors, and both have also had flat moments or over the top moments that have taken me out of the show once or twice.

[Reference]

The thing with Misha is he's pretty decent at getting into character with a gimmick.

Castiel is well known for his gravelly voice, because Misha thought about what would happen to a human vessel containing an angel, and then he stuck to the bit.

He is great at caricaturing Mark P's Lucifer, because he has some distinct facial expressions and line delivery. But, like I said in those tags, that wasn't the actual assignment. 🙃 And a big part of this is on Misha, because he could've given more thought to it; but it's also on the directors that allowed it. And I think a huge part of that might be how Mark P's face is a shorthand for Lucifer, and perhaps people forget that's just a vessel. So you end up with a Jimmy Novak vessel, comically contorting his face into Nick's features.🤨 I can't take it seriously; it's so uncomfortable to watch.

Apocalypse World Castiel is maybe even WORSE to me, because

1) how and why does he sound like that? Is Jimmy Novak German over there?? Or is that what CASTIEL sounds like, since our Castiel also doesn't sound like Jimmy Novak?

2) why would castiel even have the same vessel? I can give this a pass for the sake of the mind trip of seeing evil cas with the same face, but that brings up:

3) the FUCKING ACCENT is an honestly lazy shorthand for evil. Because he's not just doing a German accent, he's doing a Nazi Villain Accent like from a movie, complete with facial ticks. Someone else has a more in depth post on why it's Not Great to use German accents and Nazi caricature as a shorthand for evil, but I can't find it to link right now.

It bothers me so much.

The Empty doesn't bother me as much, except for the fact that once again Misha made a character choice that no one else depicting The Empty did. However, I'll give him a pass on it since his was the first.

_

Conversely, Jared puts a lot more thought into character motivation to create a nuanced PERSONA. He's not just "how can i make this one quirky in a new way?" He's getting into the character's head, and often switching between them. The way they carry themselves, the tone of voice while still being Sam/Jared's voice, the way he had Gadreel speak in iambic pentameter! The way you can see the difference when you pay attention.

And maybe I didn't appreciate it as much the first time, because I binged it ravenously rather than taking the time to think about any of the acting. So perhaps, like you said, Jensen/Dean's stronger emotional acting took the spotlight.

But with rewatching, I notice so much more about how Jared portrays different characters and learned so much about the care he puts into figuring out every character, I'm just constantly in awe.

I don't think Jensen's Michael was that bad, but it also didn't feel like Jared's Lucifer. Maybe part of that is that Jensen hadn't had to act anyone other than Dean as often as Jared had to act Not Sams.

J2 definitely each have different acting styles and strengths, and sure it's maybe not always perfect, but I love both. Though, I do have to admit, most of my reblogs and posts on the subject are just about Jared...lol. He's just amazing to me, maybe especially because Sam does get shafted to the background a lot, but when I look for him Jared is putting his all into Sam. If acting was still one of my personal interests, he would be a role model to me.

[zmediaoutlet]

what is your stance on the "amelia or at least sams life with her was only a hallucination his already damaged psyche conjured up after suffering a psychotic break"-theory?

umm not a fan. Like... not for me, at all. But the way I'm not a fan has evolved a little over the years, haha, so to expand --

I get why people are into it. I mean, the filming choices are so batshit weird (why that gross golden vaseline filter? why drop in flashbacks every time Jared looked constipated in the main timeline?) that it's easy to go It Was All A Dream, no matter how cheesy that is.

Goof-ass cinematography aside, though, I know the reason a lot of people want to reject it out of hand is that "Sam would have looked for Dean." I get it; it's tough that he didn't. But there's a difference between Sam should have looked and Sam necessarily must have, and the fact that he didn't is so OOC we have to invent a full on AU for him. I mean, for one thing, the actual canon information as presented doesn't contravene the idea that Sam did actually try but failed, and gave up* after failing. He was alone with a busted car, zero help (Bobby dead, angels not listening, demons not answering the phone, etc), and had no idea if Dean was dead or just winked from existence (because why would he assume that he went to Purgatory?). With zero leads and dead ends at every turn, it's very easy to insert like a month of him failing and then he hits a dog -- and then, because he feels intensely guilty, telling Dean that he didn't really try, because his efforts were so paltry that he can't even count them as trying.

...but even that isn't really that much of an argument. One thing that I find happens a lot with the Winchesters in fandom discussions, but especially with Sam, is like... not allowing them the dignity of their choices. Which -- like, duh, they're fictional characters, they're written a certain way. But there's a real tendency to leap to OOC claims or "the writers don't know what they're doing!!" whenever it's something we wish the character wouldn't have done because we don't like it. But like... that's not how characters work. Characters do shit I don't like all the time; it doesn't mean they didn't do it, and that I shouldn't try to fold even that disliked thing into my conception of who the character is. (Important caveat: there's a great post by astolat that talks about the venn diagrams of audience belief and canonicity in texts with multiple writers that makes this more complicated. Still, I think that variability comes in small details as she mentions in that post, or indeed dumb little moments of Jensen improv in spn canon, rather than whole-ass plot arc decisions.)

Sam stopped looking for/didn't look for Dean when he disappeared. That's interesting. Kinda sucks, and the show and Sam himself point out multiple times that it kinda sucks, but that doesn't make it uninteresting or OOC, especially given the Sam we have who is nigh indomitable. The fact that it was his choice speaks to a Sam who's really just... beaten down. And why wouldn't he be? Slings and arrows from birth all the way to age 27 when he threw himself into the worse torture imaginable -- then he got saved, hallegoddamnlujah, and he thought maybe he'd be there with Dean, living a life he could choose for once instead of one he'd been forced into by destiny -- and then it was just another apocalypse, and enemies on all sides, and every friend and ally and hope just torn away, one by one. It's a miracle he got to keep the car. I can see that Sam, in that last torn circumstance, just -- going into hiding. He hits a dog and then inertia keeps him in one place, spinning his wheels. He meets a girl and she kinda sucks but she's prickly and rude and not-samey enough to prod him back up into life, and at that point it's been months and Dean's gone and he thinks, if this is life I guess I can live it. He can't go back to the shell of a life he loved with Dean and it's just... too much. He's always been very, very good at putting one foot in front of the other. (It's why he manages to live after the finale.)

Now, does Sam regret that choice, such as it was? Sure. (Not that I think he could've changed anything about it.) Doesn't mean he didn't make it. It also beautifully informs the arc of that year, moving from one choice to another -- from abdicating responsibility to taking on the ultimate responsibility. And it's really really REALLY interesting to me in the long-form story spn tells about Sam and the Most Interesting Long-form Character Development Ever. He's a startling advocate for his own agency and holds it in tight reins; I'm not interested in pretending he isn't, either for Martyr!Sam headcanons or any strong weird wincest-only stanning. Plus, Amelia-the-mistress as parallel for Benny-the-mistress is just too good to give up.

s8's awesome. It doesn't need weird St. Elsewhere headcanons to make it somehow excusable.

[mydemonsdrivealimo]

3. How did your oc discover themself? Did something cause them to question, or did they always know?

6. How does your oc feel about labels? Theirs, or in general?

11. Is your oc open about their identity? Are they more lowkey or more blunt about it? Why or why not?

12. Does/did your oc ever wish they could change the way they are? Why? If it's in the past, how did they get over the feeling? (this can be about internalized homo/transphobia)

For both Jensen and Bryce... And could I also ask for Cy, too? 👀 If so, maybe a quick 1 and 2 for them as well.

ty for the ask!! i think ill actually answer for cyrus in a different post bc id like to finish up their profile first :)

3. How did your oc discover themself? Did something cause them to question, or did they always know?

jensen honestly didnt know for a long time. he was aware there was something "off" like he didnt really feel the same way his peers felt, but also he didnt really have the means or time to care or "discover" it? he likes who he likes, and thats about as complex as it went for him. once he was in college he really accepted and realized that he was into other people the same way he was "supposed" to be into girls, so he started actually experimenting more. as for being aspec, i think he figured that out later in med school. he was relatively isolated as far as friendships and relationships went, so he really got to explore that and how it related to him. gender has always been a weird thing for him, and he still doesnt quite know where he stands on it

bryce has always known. hes been kissing boys forever, and there were no fucks given from him. even if his parents discouraged him it never really stopped him, and he still had plenty of boyfriends and other partners through high school, undergrad, and med school. he didnt find out/realize that he was demiro until he was w jensen though. jensen was the first relationship he had where he actually felt,, right? and once he talked to jensen about it, he helped him to find a label that he felt fit (in this fic)

6. How does your oc feel about labels? Theirs, or in general?

jensen can see their purpose but doesnt like them for himself, and bryce likes them but also gets not wanting to use them. jensen will always use "queer" because its easier for him than trying to explain every nuance of his sexuality and gender, and he feels really confined by lables. bryce on the other hand really likes having ways to describe what he is/what feels best for him, and it makes him happy to have a collective sense of belonging/understanding with others who use the same label

11. Is your oc open about their identity? Are they more lowkey or more blunt about it? Why or why not?

bryce and jensen are both very open with their identities, though jensen (as per usual) tends to be more reserved about it. theyre both blunt in terms of telling people, and bryce tends to be quicker to share, but jensen usually waits until its relevant. bryce prefers to be blunt about it bc he likes to weed out the people who will be asses, but also it just wouldn't feel right to him to build a relationship where he felt that he couldnt be open about it. he would never want to trap himself in a friendship or any relationship where he had to hide that part of himself. for jensen, hes just not really the type to share anything about himself often. hes the type of person where he will know everything about you, but you know nothing about him, and this definitely applies to that. its just more how he is than anything to do w his identity

12. Does/did your oc ever wish they could change the way they are? Why? If it's in the past, how did they get over the feeling? (this can be about internalized homo/transphobia)

no, not really. bryce and jensen have always been relatively comfortable with who they are, and, even if there were people that thought otherwise, they still knew they were in the right for it. like bryce didnt grow up w accepting parents, jensens mom never talked about stuff like that, but there were so many other issues going on that it wasn't super significant for either of them (bryce a little, but jensen just never worried about it). once they were away from their home environments they were both able to explore more of themselves, and they never really wanted to change any of it