#just pretend you're doing something and don't make any noise and wait

[anaalnathrakhs]

i am exactly the same as i was three years ago, but i put on a new coat of paint over the same old mechanisms and now i can pretend being normal. i can function. sort of. i have fixed almost zero problems, but i can bear them anyway so. why care. what would i even do? how does one even fix that?

i don't fucking know what i'm doing here! people keep trying to give me some sort of pep talks like!! remember what you're doing it for!! and like. yeah i said i'd like this or that job because i have nothing better to say, it's my dream if you want, i have to pretend something. i wish i had any monetizable skills. or any skills really. but i don't. yay. i'm gonna be stuck living with my parents forever. that's what i fucking deserve.

woooooo the guilt is eating me! it's eating me alive!

[sugoroo]

#AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES...

ʚɞ summary: the chronicles of what happens when you share a living space with the jjk men: expect tension, embarrassing revelations and (of course) séx! . . . ft. gojo, geto, toji, choso + nanami.

warnings. fem!reader, masturbation, panty stealing, plushie humping in choso's, penetration (p in v), doggystyle, oral (f receiving), 18+ minors dni.

SATORU GOJO — THE LOUD ONE!

satoru gojo is the most irritating, annoying and overly loud roommate you could possibly have.

at all hours of the day, he can be heard through the thin walls separating your rooms doing one (or all) of the following things: shouting down the phone to his bestfriend suguru, raging at his teammates for losing a match in a video game... and even jerking off.

yes, that's right.

and whatever satoru is doing to himself in there simply cannot feel good enough that it warrants the sheer amount of obnoxious moans that he releases; you're sure of it. he has to be playing it up purely to get on your nerves — and to his credit, it works.

so eventually, after yet another hour of trying to focus on doing some work on your computer but being unable to get anything done due to the noises coming from the other room of the apartment, you decide to do something about it.

without stopping to knock, you unceremoniously barge through his door, mouth already open in preparation of the spew of complaints you have ready to throw his way.

but, rather embarrassingly, once you lay eyes upon what he's currently doing, any and every word in the english language disappears from your mind without so much as a puff of smoke.

satoru, for his part, doesn't react at all save for looking mildly amused at your reaction. in fact... you think the pale hand he has wrapped around his cock even speeds up its languid strokes at the sight of you.

"girl, finally!" he sighs dramatically, lips spreading into a wide, impish smile as he beckons you with the curled finger of his other hand. "been waiting for you to get the hint for months now. i was starting to think you didn't want me too, honestly."

"you— what?" you push out awkwardly, wincing through your confusion as you fight the fruitless battle to tear your eyes from his unnecessarily big cock and meet his bright eyes.

"you heard me," satoru hums with an easy shrug, letting out one of those all-too-familiar, almost pornographic moans when he squeezes his own hand around the leaky tip of his shaft. "...or do you not want me too?"

sighing, you raise your thumb and forefinger to rub your stressed temple, shaking your head at the sheer audacity of this man. "you're ridiculous, gojo. i was hoping you were just pretending to jerk off in here— but no, of course you actually are."

"mhmm," he groans raspily between increasingly loud squelches of his cock. wait; is your scolding only helping him get off even faster? oh, you can't make this shit up. "keep talkin' to me just like that, baby."

"first of all, don't call me baby," you scoff, jabbing an accusing finger in his direction with a scowl etching its way onto your features. "and secondly, if you're gonna do this... stuff right next-door to me, can't you atleast try to keep it down? some of us have work to do."

satoru rolls his eyes at this, as if he's somehow the one being inconvenienced here; but any real irritation quickly evaporates into pleasure when he starts fondling his heavy balls, tongue lewdly lolling out of his mouth like a bitch in heat.

"i-i'll keep quiet. shit— i'll do whatever you fuckin' want if you just... just get me over the edge here, pretty girl. hah— help a guy out, would you, roomie?"

and damn if that isn't an enticing offer. finally getting rid of the noise around here so you can actually submit a work assignment on time for once?

yeah... you're definitely on board.

"fine," you mutter, attempting to sound as uninterested as possible as you shuffle closer to the bed. "what do you want me to do, gojo? and don't even bother asking me to suck your dick or anything, because who knows the last time you properly washed that—"

satoru snorts out a strangled laugh, shaking his head quickly and peering up at you with wide, darkened cerulean eyes. "n-no... not that. just— just talk to me, please? and call me satoru, not gojo, damn."

"okay..." you huff thoughtfully, brainstorming what you can say to get this over as quickly as possible. eventually, you purr: "are you gonna be a dirty boy and make a mess all over your hand for me, satoru? hmm?"

and, to your surprise and... arousal? that's all it takes to get him to explode, thick ropes of sticky white cum trickling from the reddened tip of his cock as he whines in ecstasy.

huh. maybe your work can wait a little longer.

SUGURU GETO — THE ONE WHO MAKES YOUR PANTIES GO POOF!

suguru geto is a man of many talents.

but in his humble opinion, the one he is most proficient at? oh, it has to be stealing various pairs of his cute little roommate's panties without her even taking notice.

yeah; that's right, his entire underwear drawer is not actually filled with articles of his own clothing, but rather with scraps of material he has swiped from your room over the past few months.

"ugh, i lost another pair of panties!" comes a frustrated groan from you room; you must be on the phone to one of your friends, suguru muses. "i swear, it's like there's a black hole at the bottom of that washer or something."

ah, if only you knew.

if only you knew that while you're busy stressing over the mystery of your missing underwear, suguru is slumped just against the other side of the thin wall that separates your rooms, one of the aforementioned pairs wrapped tightly around his throbbing cock.

he does this more often than he would like to admit — waits until he hears you get on the phone to jerk himself off. why? well, because then he can listen to your pretty voice while he bucks up into his fist. that's why.

"such a clueless girl..." suguru mutters under his breath as his eyes flutter closed, letting himself get lost in the combination of the soft fabric of your panties surrounding his shaft and the sound of you speaking ringing in his ears. "has no idea where her precious underwear keeps wandering off to."

meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, you have a mischievous smile pulling at your lips as you pretend to be utterly oblivious about your panty thief to your confused friend on the other end of the phone.

as if you wouldn't work out it was suguru snatching them — after all, who else could it possibly be? but you figured it was better this way, letting him think he's holding all the cards in this situation.

it only makes it all the more enjoyable for you.

leaning a little closer to the wall, you can faintly hear the familiar sounds of him getting himself off as you slowly dip a hand beneath your own skirt; and you're not wearing underwear, of course, because you don't have a single pair left thanks to your roommate.

you end up dropping the phone carelessly to the ground when suguru's deep, satisfied groan sounds out from his room, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as his orgasm swiftly brings you to your own.

so lost in your own pleasure are you that when the door softly clicks open, you don't have time to compose yourself before suguru strolls right on in, seeming much too casual for someone who just came in his hand.

"well well well," suguru hums smugly, tilting his head to the side and peering down at you with a condescending smile. "what do we have here, hmm? did you really think you could outsmart me, beautiful?"

oh.

maybe you really are clueless if you genuinely thought he didn't know you were pretending to be as such... but would it really be such a bad thing if he decides to punish you for your attempt at deception?

TOJI FUSHIGURO — THE ONE WHO NEVER PAYS RENT!

toji rarely (if ever) pays his part of the rent for your shared apartment.

he doesn't even bother trying to lie to you and tell you he'll scrounge up enough cash to cover it next time it's due, because he already knows you wouldn't buy that for a second.

so, instead, he offers you something else to keep you sated. something that he can say without a shadow of a doubt he can give to you better than anyone else could even hope to.

cock.

because if he keeps you in a perpetual state of bliss underneath the sheets of his bed, how can you possibly have any time remaining to think of such trivial things like paying the entire monthly rent on your own?

"mmm... what was i saying again, toji?" you slur, voice just delirious with pleasure as he pounds into you from behind, one strong hand effortlessly keeping your face pressed against the mattress.

"nothin', baby," toji lies easily, threading his thick fingers through the back of your hair in a distractingly tender gesture as his mean hips keep up their ruthless pace. "just relax and let y'erself feel me, yeah?"

"but—" you protest weakly, followed by an involuntary hiccup as his pudgy cockhead reaches that spongy spot inside of you once again. "i have a feeling it was important..."

"nah," he grunts dismissively, free hand snaking down to where your bodies are connected to rub messy, stimulating circles around the puffy bud that is your clit. "don't worry about it, pretty."

"...okay. if you say so." you mumble eventually, brain far too hazy from his skilful ministrations to bother putting up much of a fight against his convincing words.

toji's scarred lips spread into a victorious grin behind your back at how easily you give in. he just loves having you like this — so cockdrunk you can't even remember what you were talking about from one moment to the next.

and when the time inevitably comes for you to pay the rent on behalf of both of you yet again, he already knows you won't bat an eye; because, in the big scheme of things, what's a little cash matter if it means you get to have access to his sinful dick game whenever you so desire?

yeah... he'd say it's a pretty fair trade.

but the best part of all is that toji thinks he's the mastermind behind this little arrangement when in reality, if you were looking for a roommate who could pay their rent, you would never have picked someone who looks as jobless as he does in the first place.

but you'll continue to let him believe it was his idea; because, after all, he fucks you better when he's feeling proud of himself.

CHOSO KAMO — THE SECRETLY PERVERTED ONE!

choso doesn't mean to be perverted; not really.

but whether intentional or not, he finds himself desperate for anything that reminds him of you each time he gets himself off: a t-shirt, a pair of underwear, or even one of the cute little plushies you have lined up on your bed.

he wonders, fleetingly, what you'd think of him if you could see him humping one of your stuffed toys while you're out at work — would you be disgusted? would you kick him out and start the search for a new roommate?

or would you, just maybe... take pity on the poor boy and lend him a helping hand?

by the benevolence of some undefined higher power, choso doesn't have to mull over the answer to his question for much longer. because apparently, he was so desperate to release the desire coursing through his veins that he forgot to check the time before starting like he usually would.

so when he hears the tell-tale sign of the door opening and indicating that you've just come home from work, he has nowhere near enough time to cover up what he's been up to in your room while you were gone.

well, shit.

"hey cho, what are you doing in my— oh." comes your dumfounded voice as you peek your head around the slightly ajar doorway, eyes widening in a manner akin to a cartoon character at the sight of his sinful state.

choso blushes profusely, attempting to hide his face by ducking it into his shoulder with a muffled whimper of embarrassment. to his horror, his pathetically hard cock is fully exposed to your view, nestled between the soft limbs of one of your plushies where he had previously been thrusting.

you both stay completely silent for a few long moments, neither of you daring to move a single muscle... but it isn't long before your body is climbing onto the bed to join him before your mind can even begin to process your movements.

"w-what are you doing?... are you gonna hit me? because that would be okay, you can d-definitely hit me if you want!" choso squeaks hurriedly, peeking out from his shoulder and looking for all the word like a puppy who just got caught doing something naughty by its owner.

"i'm not gonna hit you, choso," you chuckle softly, carefully tugging your abused, slightly sticky plushie out from underneath him and tossing it away. "i wanna help you. don't you wanna try doing that to something other than a stuffed toy, hmm?"

"...oh, f-fuck!" he whines loudly, hips rutting just once against the mattress before his cock cruelly betrays him and spurts buckets of cum at the mere thought of being inside of you.

choso hides his face in shame again, figuring he must've absolutely ruined his chances with you now. because there's no way you would still want to help him after witnessing that little display, right?

wrong.

when you tug his head away from his shoulder by one of his scraggly pigtails and pull him into a searing kiss, he realizes maybe his pretty little roommate was just as perverted as him all along.

KENTO NANAMI — THE RESPECTFUL ONE!

kento is very fond of you; his sweet roommate who always wakes him up for work in the morning if he happens to accidentally oversleep and leaves him homemade dinner in the fridge to cheer him up after a late shift.

he figures these things making him feel attraction towards you is fairly normal — but it's the other, not-so-intentional things that make him go crazy for you the most.

when he spots you walking around the apartment in nothing but one of his oversized shirts and a pair of socks because your clothes are in the communal washer... or when he silently observes you bend over to grab something from the bottom cupboard in the kitchen?

yeah, those are the things that really make it hard for him not to pounce on you like some kind of feral animal.

it all comes to a crux when you come home in tears one night, babbling about your fool of a boyfriend having the audacity to cheat on you. hmph, nanami never liked him anyway.

but there's no time for petty jealousies now — no, now is the time for him to make you realize that what you've been craving has been here all along, living in the room right next-door to yours.

so he pulls you into a gentle kiss, pouring all of his pent-up affection into the gesture as he effortlessly lifts you up onto the kitchen counter, positioning himself between your spread legs.

"i want to make you forget about him, beautiful," nanami whispers, voice rough with sincereness as he places a soft peck on the corner of your lips. "may i?"

and you're nodding shakily, but it isn't enough. he reaches up with a large hand to grasp your chin in a firm yet tender grip, thumb stroking over your skin. "use your words for me, dear. come on, i know you can do it."

"y-yes. please, kento."

and that's all it takes for nanami to fall to his knees, brushing his lips over the insides of your thighs as he slowly works his way upwards. god, he's wanted to do this for so long — if for nothing else then to thank you for taking such good care of him and never asking for anything in return.

but oh, is he going to give you something in return now; specifically, in the form of his hot mouth attached to your cunt, tongue lapping up every drop of your translucent juices as if it were the finest wine on the menu of a high class restaurant.

he can't help but wonder, while he's buried nose-deep in your sweet pussy, why on earth a man would choose to cheat on a goddess such as yourself.

but he supposes it doesn't matter, if it means that he's the one who finally gets to worship at your altar from now and for as long as you'll allow him the honour of doing so.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

[hairmetal666]

Steve knows he falls in love too easily. Nancy told him, Robin too.

But falling in love with Eddie Munson is hard.

They're supposed to be friends after Vecna. They're supposed to be friends, but Steve can't get past what Eddie did in the Upside Down; how he put himself in a position to nearly die, how Dustin got hurt. It's not fair. He knows it's not, but it doesn't make the anger go away.

Eddie's part of the group now, though, and Steve won't leave him out, no matter how angry. They're all at movie nights, at pool parties, at Hellfire, at Corroded Coffin gigs. It's just that Steve and Eddie don't speak. And Steve is okay with it. If it's what it takes to make sure that they're all hanging out together, not talking to Eddie is a small thing. He's pretty sure Eddie doesn't mind. At least, he seems as uninterested in hanging out with Steve as Steve is with him.

It doesn't need to be anything more than that, and it isn't, not until Steve goes upstairs to get more sunscreen during one of the pool parties, and walks back downstairs to find Munson waiting for him in his kitchen.

"You need something?" He asks, unable to fully hide the way he jolts with surprise.

Eddie twists the rings on his fingers, something Steve's noticed he does whenever he's nervous. "You have a problem with me, Harrington?

"No, of course not," he answers too fast.

"C'mon, man. You can barely stand to be in the same room with me."

"That's not true! We're in one together right now."

Eddie rolls his eyes so hard that it has to hurt. "Don't do that. Don't pretend like you don't know what I mean. You can't stand to be alone with me for more than thirty seconds."

Steve splutters, searching for a plausible reason.

"Is it cause--" Eddie swallows, hand going back to cup his neck. "Is it cause you heard me tell Robin that I'm gay? Back at the hospital. Is it because--" he cuts himself off.

Something in Steve's chest clenches hard, warmth swooping dangerously in his stomach. "No," Steve says, means it. "I didn't hear. I didn't-- it has nothing to do with that. It's--that's cool. Thanks for--yeah, that's cool."

Eddie's smile is a brittle little thing. "Then, what else?" Eddie pulls a chunk of hair over his mouth. "I can't think of any other reason you'd hate me so much."

"I don't." And Steve hopes it's coming off as genuine. "I promise."

He can't help remember the camaraderie, the understanding, that started to grow between them in the Upside Down. The "don't cha, big boy?" of it all. They could be friends. They should be.

They shouldn't get into it. Not right here, not right now when the kids' splashes and excited screams filter through the sliding door.

"You're a shit liar, Harrington."

"Ed--I'm not--"

"You know what? Don't bother. I'll just--" He jolts in the direction of the front door.

"Don't be stupid, Munson."

"God, I can't believe I didn't see it before. You just fucking loathe me."

"I do not. Grow up."

"Oh, yeah? Then what's your problem?"

"There isn't--"

"Stop lying!"

"You didn't fucking think!" He shouts. Loud enough that the noise outside cuts off. "You pulled that shit in the Upside Down and you almost died! Dustin got hurt!"

Eddie blinks his big brown eyes in stunned surprise.

"I told you, I said, 'dont try to be cute or be a hero or something.' And you know what you said? Do you?"

Eddie won't look at him now. "I had to make a choice, Steve."

"It was the wrong one!"

"I would do it all again. No matter what you say. I would do it to draw the bats away. To protect Dustin."

"But you didn't."

"There was no other way to stop them, Steve! They would've gotten through, into Hawkins."

"It doesn't matter."

"You weren't there! You can't tell me--"

"Yes, I can! I know."

"You don't! You think--"

"I almost lost you!" He screams. "You nearly died in my arms, Eddie. And for what?"

Falling in love with Eddie wasn't easy. It was blood and near death; it was weeks in a cold hospital room while Eddie existed in a drug-induced twilight state; it was agonizing convalescence and physical therapy and changing bandages; it was Eddie leading dnd sessions with bright eyes and contagious enthusiasm, herding the kids to the arcade and video store, theatrically serving snacks at movie night; it was festering, senseless anger at the near loss of something.

Eddie's lips tremble. "Steve, I--"

"It doesn't matter." He turns away to slide a hand down his face in an effort to wipe away the emotion. "You're fine and we're--it doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "Steve, I'm sorry. I wanted--I thought it would help. I thought--"

And Steve has to admit, he does, the whole terrible contradiction of it all. "I know," he whispers back. "I would've--I know."

"I thought I was protecting Dustin. I thought I was buying you guys time with Vecna." Eddie's voice breaks. "I didn't--I--" He squeezes his eyes shut.

In the quiet of the kitchen, they gravitate to one another, foreheads resting together.

"I should have been there, Ed. I shouldn't have left you two alone. You almost died, and I--"

"Sweetheart, I'm right here. We're right here."

They don't kiss, but they're close enough that their mouths brush with each breath they take.

"Don't do that, again." Steve clenches his fists into Eddie's cutoff t-shirt. "Promise you won't ever--"

"I promise, Stevie. I promise. I'll be by your side until the very end, whatever it is."

[thedropsofblood]

A mole was found

Warning: Non-con, double penetration, rape, bondage, threesome, implied no aftercare, gender neutral but made with male reader in mind, rushed, not proofread, this is more like a oneshot.

If accidentally getting affiliated with the mafia is unlucky, then you would be the god of bad luck. And unfortunately for you, after being assigned to spy on the mafia for over a year, they had managed to find documents detailing their exploits, which gave them enough evidence to drag you to the torture interrogation room.

Like any normal person, you tried to resist but let's be honest, could you really fight against trained mafia members dragging you by both of your arms? Not to mention when they've been annoyed by your constant resistance, they knocked you out by smashing your head against the wall, hard enough to make you unconscious but not hard enough to kill you.

By the time that you have woken up, you were set on your knees on the floor, hands tied behind your back with a blindfold over your eyes. The position...confused you? Usually traitors would be set on a wooden chair, fully tied down with a gag in their mouth, not whatever position you are in.

You could slightly make out the layout of the room based on how the light is shining down on you, seemed like the mafia members didn't bother to give you a thicker blindfold. There is a single lightbulb over your head, otherwise most of the room is dark and quiet. In the mist of confusion, you decided to risk something, tapping your finger on the floor and pretending to be impatient in order to try to use the echos to imagine the room's layout.

The plan worked, but things didn't seem to be in your favour as the room turned out to be quite large. How could you even escape in these circumstances???

Right at that moment, you heard footsteps echoing from a direction, cutting your line of thought almost immediately. The sound is somewhat scattered, you could make out that two people are heading towards you. You feel the light shining on your blindfold getting slightly darker, someone is standing right in front of you.

You heard murmurs and whispers, a cold sweat fell down your forehead while your hands fiddled together. You figured it's the best decision to stay silent and not say anything unless you're talked to, after all there isn't any reason to give away any information about yourself.

You felt a pair of hand grips your chin, the fingers digging into your cheeks and tilting it to different angles. You assumed it was to judge your appearance, which seemed to be at least attractive since you heard an amused hum from whoever was checking you out.

You felt your waits being held, turned over to your back before your head is placed on a lap of one of the two people, your knees being held up to your shoulders. The only thing you could hear is the sound of belts buckling and your voice protesting whatever the two are trying to do to you.

You froze the moment you felt the heat of something hot right over your face, as well as the feeling of your clothes being unbuttoned. Without any warning, the warm length shoves into your mouth, causing you to gag almost instantly, tears building in your eyes.

Meanwhile underneath, two fingers were knuckles deep in your hole, stretching it open and revealing your insides to the cold air. The fingers didn't stop rearranging your insides while the length moves in your mouth, ignoring all your gags and pathetic noises.

The second length eventually enters your under hole, a pair of hands grips your hips to move you more steadily. The cock in your mouth muffles your noises, shoving deeper down your throat when the length underneath pulls out to its tip, just to ram inside you again, giving you a bulge on your lower stomach.

You were biting your underlip, trying your best to not make any noises but they kept going out of your throat without any sign of stopping. You felt so violated yet it felt so good getting your insides ruined by people you don't even know the face off, unable to fight back and vulnerable like some kind of onahole.

The cock in your mouth was pulled out, a small strand of saliva connected its tip to your lips and left a quiet pop sound. The person holding your waist suddenly held you up straight, burying the length inside you deeper and grinding it against your spot. Before you could make sense of anything, the cock positions its tip against your entrance. You tried to protest and push the first person off, it was only met by a spank on your ass and the person shoving their cock into you.

The two started going by a faster pace, each taking turns to hit your deepest spot as the person behind you pulled your head back by your hair, the person in front of you shoved two fingers into your mouth to muffle your moans and play with your tongue.

After half an excruciating hour, they finally finished inside you with a grunt. At this point, your mind was already blanked, your body sweating and twitching from the intense workout, your hole gaping even when they pulled out and tears falling down from your eyes, staining the blind fold.

You heard a few small sentences before you pass out.

"What should we do with them, boss?"

"Keep them, they're good as a stress reliever."

At least now you know that you're good in bed <3

Author note: This will get a remake due to the unsatisfactory of the plot.

[oniikabuto]

one bed!

-- sfw --

characters: kyle broflovski, kenny mccormick, stan marsh, eric cartman

a/n: i did this for a different fandom like a year ago. i love the one bed trope i just had to write a new one for south park....,,, lmk if you want part 2

notes: fluff yayyy; gn reader; characters have a fat crush on you live laugh mutual pining;

guys requests are very much open rigjt now pleasseeeekksflkdfnkjs

— ⛧ k. broflovski

sweetest guy. he doesn't want to take your bed, but you insist.

he also hangs his jacket on the door and keeps his hat neatly on your desk... which is kinda funny and cute that he tries so hard to be neat

freezes up and goes red when you slide into the bed next to him. poor boy is about to melt.

"dude why are you so sweaty are you okay"

"huh- what? yeah, yeah it's cool i'm fine it's..,,,,,,,"

wakes up with a puddle of drool and a wet cheek. he panics and wipes his face and looks over to see if you're awake. you pretend you aren't for kyle's sake. he's so cute.

his nose also does that stupid whistley thing it's so funny

a relatively still sleeper. he just kinda curls up and.. sleeps. sometimes he murmurs something in his sleep.

"cartman.. shut up..",

"what?", you murmur groggily.

"no"

"kyle??? are you awake??"

(no response)

genuinely cannot remember any of that when he wakes up.

— ⛧ k. mccormick

it's like 1am and you turn off the movie as the credits roll.

when you look over at kenny, he looks like a baby that had just woken up.

"dude, what time is it..", he murmurs.

"um.. late." you definitely did not mean to have him over for so long.

"do you wanna go home, or like.. stay with me?"

kenny perks up immediately when you offer to let him spend the night. huge, shit-eating grin spread across his face.

"dumbass", you laugh. but you kinda wanted him over, too.

he sits in your room and pokes at all of your plushies while he waits for you to go get a change of clothes for him. ("no way you're sleeping in that eyesore of a parka!")

almost faints when you change your shirt in front of him

youre the only person that can fluster him like that.

sleeps curled up like a little car

(I MEANT TO TYPE CAT BUT THATS REALLY FUCKING FUNNY)

makes funny noises

like when a dog is sleeping

you'll wake up with his face in your chest and he'll swear it was an accident. it was not

— ⛧ s. marsh

you were at your desk doing homework and stan was on your bed on his phone, both doing your own thing as music played from your speaker.

it's not until that last math problem that you realize it's late. really, really late. you look over at stan, and he's face-down dead asleep on your bed, phone still in one hand.

you don't want to wake him up and tell him to go home, so instead you take his hat off and leave it on your bedpost.

he's splayed across the bed right in the middle.

how?? are you supposed to move him???

after a moment of deliberation, you hold your breath and roll him over, praying he doesn't wake up.

he does obviously

"ow..???? y/n??"

"shit. sorry. it's late, just go back to sleep. you can walk home tomorrow morning."

"wha- okay"

he's too tired to object

plus he secretly loves being in your bed. it smells like you

snores and breathes kinda funny once in a while

no matter how still he looks when you get into the bed with him, somehow you wake up with his limbs sprawled out like a spider.

in the morning, his leg is on top of you and his hand is on your face.

— ⛧ e. cartman

actually such a bitch about staying over

he definitely tried to distract you so that he would HAVE to spending the night

he just loves spending time with you but he doesnt wanna ask :(

"but the couch will make my back stiff! i'll be soo sore in the morning!"

"just say you want to sleep in my room with me, cartman."

"whaat?? if you insist, i guess!"

makes himself absolutely at home. if you want to sleep in your own bed, you'll have to sleep on top of him or touching him.

he definitely does that on purpose

as much as it pains you to admit it, cartman is actually like really really comfortable.

even if he's squishing you to death

and he claims he has no idea he does that in his sleep

smells like a dove soap bar or like. baby shampoo and its actually really nice

snores like a monster truck engine

leaves his shit all over the floor but also offers to help clean up to impress you

(he cant clean for shit but at least he tried??)

[ficsonpost-its]

general being with jinx headcanons

cw: paranoia, general negative mental health state

inspired by this asmr playlist

‣ First and foremost: you're her safe space

‣ One of her favourite things to do first thing in the morning is look for you, and 9 times out of 10 you're right there by her side, warming her up with your body heat and most likely still asleep.

‣ You wake up with her trying to stifle giggles, practically wrapped around you, and more likely than not some lock of her hair (or several) laying across some part of your body.

‣ Sometimes she decides you've been asleep for long enough and you're rudely awaken by a series of jabs to the ribs and an impatient "wake up, I'm bored!"

‣ Let her listen to your heart when she's stressed. Something about the rhythmic beating, knowing that it was the thing that kept you alive and with her is a big comfort to her.

‣ Maybe wait to do that when she's calm though, she can be a bit volatile during the worst of her breakdowns. She's quick to throw out an arm or a leg, striking out at invisible demons and the source of her voices. Keeping a small distance and talking calmly can help calm her down though, but depending on the severity you might be there a while.

‣ Prepare for Silco to distrust you at best. He's not the happiest about Jinx gallivanting around with someone he doesn't know much about, but had given up on trying to keep Jinx in line years ago. Expect to find someone lurking in the dark when you spend time with her though. Pretend they don't exisit

‣ Jinx loves making gifts for you. Nearly everything she gives you is handmade. Your home is full of trinkets and knick-knacks she made with her own two hands. Twisted wire sculptures, contraptions that made a bunch of noise, and even delicate and intricate mechanical creatures. You have a wind-up bird sitting on your nightstand, one of the first things she made for you.

‣ She also loves to pull silly pranks on you. You're far too used to getting a paint bomb on your back or even something as cliché as a bucket full of some sort of foam balanced on an ajar door. Don't worry though, you get her back plenty. You know she's planned something because she can't help but start giggling when you're just about to walk into one

‣ Jinx doesn't talk much about her history - something you respect. Barely anyone in Zaun has had a positive start in life and Jinx was certainly one of them if her sleep talking before waking up from a nightmare is anything to go by. Whatever it was, it's deeply affected her

‣ However despite her ramblings, her occasional breakdowns, her frequent nightmares and wacky personality, she's someone you know you can rely on for anything, she's proved that to you more than enough times. Sure she may not believe you when you tell her she is a good thing in your life, but be patient with her. One day you'll get through to her

‣ Being with Jinx is sure to transform your life into a colourful, erratic, and spontaneous adventure. She's full of life and love, so much love. Please let her give you all the love she has to give. Treat her right and she'll treat you right. She loves you deeply and you're not going to leave her any time soon, no matter how crazy to others she may seem.

[a-hazbin-reader]

https://www.tumblr.com/a-hazbin-reader/743280500155809792/hey-loooove-your-x-readers-is-there-any-chance

Part two? Where the nightmares have been happening so consistently for so long at this point that Alastor literally sits on readers bed with her each night and reads and comforts her? Until one night she’s having a different type of dream 😏 about him. And what type of gentleman would he be to not make a girls dreams come true? 😉 if you catch my drift.

It's been so long now so let me just-

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Filthy, Straight up S E X

Description: ☝️⬆️

Somehow, you and Alastor have fallen into a nightly routine that neither of you openly discuss, but both of you understand

Alastor waits for you to go to bed, standing outside your door and following you in without even so much as a teasing look

He just sits on the edge of your bed and makes himself busy while you get ready, being mindful not to peek at you

Except he totally does, he's just good at hiding it

Makes a big show of tucking you in like a child, patting your head and pulling the blankets up to your chin

"Would you like a bedtime story along with all this coddling?"

You give him a dirty look and kick at him slightly with your feet, too tired to even feel embarrassed

"You could always leave."

He hums and examines his claws, his ears twitching as he pretends to think it over

"And let you fend off your nightmares by yourself? What sort of a gentleman would I be then? No, thank you~"

"Ugh, you're impossible."

"Shut up and go to sleep already~"

Lately though, your dreams have been a nightmare of a whole different kind...less horrific and emotional and more...romantic?

Holding hands, soft kisses, warm embraces and candlelit dates, just all the works

Something that disturbs you a little bit more than the nightmares to be honest

There's been a couple of nights lately where Alastor consistently haunts your dreams, and it's becoming an embarrassing problem for you

You spend a few days wondering if Alastor is somehow twisting your dreams, but you don't notice a difference in him

And you doubt he would actually bother doing something like that anyways 🙄

You could only hope that Alastor doesn't figure out what's going on in your dreams, you couldn't live with the humiliation

You should've known it was only a matter of time before your dreams gave you away to him

Alastor was seated next to your sleeping form on the bed, reading to pass the time when you suddenly started making noise

It wasn't the first time this happened, setting down his book, he turned to face you, reaching out to stroke your cheek softly

"Hush now...it's only a dream.."

Usually, that would work, and you'd relax again, his voice chasing away the nightmares

Except this time it seemed to make things worse, your whole body shuddering and legs rubbing together

You instinctively nuzzled against his hand in your sleep and actually moaned his name, something that caught him off guard

"Nn...Alastor..."

But that suddenly made him all the more interested in just what you were dreaming about

It was a particularly good dream though

Alastor is laying under you, face flushed and soft pants of pleasure leaving his mouth as one hand grips your side, thrusting up into you slowly, savoring the feeling

You both moan as you roll your hips again, the slow pace driving you both crazy but neither wanting to break the moment

He leans up to lock you in a bruising kiss, sharp teeth drawing blood that a quick tongue laps up eagerly before diving in to taste more of you

One clawed hand slides up your nightgown, cupping your breast and playing with the nipple there while the other digs into you hip

You grind down harder on his cock instinctively, a strangled moan escaping you as you arch into his touch, tugging at his hair when his mouth finds your other breast

"Alastor-"

"Y/N?"

Your eyes snap open to find Alastor leaning over you, his expression smug and knowing as he tilts his head

"Another nightmare? Or just a particularly good dream~?"

There's a damp heat heat between your legs and you can't help but press them together tightly, blushing furiously

"Nothing that would interest you, I'm sure..."

You try to turn away from him to save your dignity, still horny beyond belief from your dream

You hear him chuckle behind you, feel his breath on your ear as he suddenly presses close to you, running a claw down your side

"Don't lie to me, darling~ I can smell how much you want me~"

A tingle runs down your spine and you have to bite your lip when you feel Alastor nose his face into your neck and bite the flesh playfully

"Nn...who said I was dreaming of you~?"

You feel him stiffen against you, feel more heat pool between your legs at the sound of his low growl

"Then I'll make you dream of me."

That's the only warning you get before he's putting you on your back, your legs suddenly up in the air as he pushes between them

Oh fuck

You wake up feeling sore all over, a heavy arm slung over your side and you don't need to look back to know Alastor is still there

You throw his arm off of you and stumble out of bed, a slight wobble in your walk that has you blushing

Looking in the mirror, you find you're covered in bite marks that will be impossible to cover, your hips and thighs have hand shaped bruises on them

One of your fucking tits has a bite mark on it what the fu-

"You ready to admit you were dreaming of me last night?"

The sound of Alastor behind you makes you jump, giving him a glare that only makes him grin wider

You instinctively cover your private areas even though he's already seen it all now-and that he's just as naked as you are

You're trying not to look-

"Never."

He leans against the door and admires his work on you, lazily looking your body up and down

"Ah~ Well, I suppose there's always tonight~"

The realization that he plans to make this a normal thing makes your body heat up again, blushing and looking away

"You could try again right now if you think you have a shot..."

"The shower is right here~"

HERE TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT

[millsluthor]

summary: it's emily's birthday.

tw: none.

relationship: emily x reader.

Happy birthday, my love.

Her birthday was never something Emily liked to celebrate. Growing up in a house where her mother pretended that date didn't exist. The day her father left when she turned 7. It wasn't the perfect day, it wasn't a happy day or a day to celebrate. She never received gifts from her mother or anyone else.

But apparently that was about to change.

Since y/n came into her life, Emily realized that the younger girl liked to celebrate anything that could happen. This was something Prentiss admired in her girlfriend.

October 12th dawned with a cloudy day in Tampa, they could finally go home after a long week of a case that kept the entire team awake. Emily woke up and turned to her left side — the side y/n usually slept on — and found the place empty. Which was to be expected, since the youngest was in DC because she spent the week with a bad flu and could barely get out of bed.

Grumbling, the brunette got out of bed and prepared to meet the team at the local police station so they could pack their things and head home. Her body was crying out for her girlfriend, crying out for rest and to be able to forget about the world around her.

It wasn't long before everyone was at the airport, inside the jet waiting for their departure time. Sitting alone from the rest of her friends, Emily took out her cell phone and sent a message to s/n.

“Leaving in 10. See you later, love you ❤️”

And soon after she received the reply “I'll be here with Sergio waiting for you. Love you more ❤️”

Smiling, Emily put her cell phone in the pocket of the sweatshirt she was wearing (she liked to be comfortable on planes), and closed her eyes to get some sleep.

A few hours later, everyone was already settled in the quantum ready to go home to rest. It was already night and everyone wanted their own beds and not a hard hotel bed.

— Get your things and go home. Take the weekend off, we'll do the reports on Monday. We deserve these days off. — Hotch told the team, and there was no need to say it again because everyone was already getting their things and leaving.

Fifteen minutes later, Emily arrived home, standing in front of the garage door, the brunette rested her head on the steering wheel of the car and took a deep breath. She was anxious to meet her girlfriend.

Entering the house, the brunette smelled a delicious smell of her favorite dish, saw candles lit on the table and on the counter. Hanging her coat behind the door, leaving her shoes and bag in the corner, Prentiss went towards the living room and found y/n standing in the middle of the room, holding a beautiful bouquet of white lilies. Her favorite flowers.

— Honey… — Emily sighed. Smiling.

— Happy birthday, my love. — Y/n approached and handed the bouquet to the brunette. — I know you don't like celebrating your birthday, but I didn't want to let such an important date go by unnoticed.

— Oh, S/n, you didn't have to do this. — They hugged for a moment and Emily felt tears fill her eyes. Trying not to make any noise, Emily buried her face in her girlfriend's neck, breathing deeply and inhaling her scent.

— Baby? What's going on? — asked S/n. — Did I do something wrong?

— No, my love, you're perfect. — She kissed the younger girl. — It's just that I've never received anything from anyone on my birthday. I've never felt so loved like this on that day, not even my parents did that to me… — She gave a tearful smile.

— I promise you, Emy, as long as I'm in your life and as long as you allow me, I'll make your birthday one of the best dates of the year. I'll make you feel loved and worth it. Not just your birthday, but every other day too. — They kissed.

That kiss, at that moment, served to seal the love between them, which only grew stronger with each passing second.

— I love you, y/n. I love you with all my heart. You are my world.

(Thank you for reading. English is not my native language, so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes. Please send me ideas for future fanfics, all help and ideas are welcome!)

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen

WC: 17k (I've literally been calling this a short filler hahahahaha)

18+ MDNI!!

Chapter Warnings: unbearable amounts of fluff like you're gonna think is this girl okay??? the answer, as you should already know, is no. I honestly think it's just fluff.... and bad smut. oral (fem receiving, very briefly) and p in v. mentions of jealousy I think. cheeto gets a name finally but honestly.... she's cheeto forever let's not forget. discussions around marriage and more babies. yeah - fluffy fluff.

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Ten)

A/N: remember the good old days when I uploaded a chapter like every 10 days??? remember me trying to beat the week-ish allegations??? I can’t tell if me struggling to finish this fic is bc I’m worried it’s getting samey and boring or bc I don’t want to let them go but i need to get over myself!!! sorry for the wait on this one!!! I kind of veered off the path that I planned out for the end of this story, I was really adamant I didn’t want something to happen, but it doesn’t really make sense for the relationship and characters I’ve written for it NOT to happen, so pls bear with me while I figure these last couple of chapters out!! I know a few people have discovered this fic recently so thank you for reading!! I promise I do love these two as much as I haven't acted like it the last couple of months!!

BUT ANYWAY!!! MORE IMPORTANTLY!!!!! this chapter is dedicated to my bestie Rory!! it was her birthday on Monday and if I'm honest I don't know if I would have made it this far without her!! she sends me full chapter breakdowns every time I post and she loves Poppy and Nico as much as I do - literally if I perish, she will take the reins!!! she knows everything!!! I accidentally spoiled the gender to her forever ago, and she helped me figure out Cheeto's name (as well as the name cheeto lmao) and we compared lists and literally had the same number one and the same reason we are that connected!! @h1sch13r I love you so much I couldn't possibly put into words how much I appreciate you!! happy belated birthday capricorn queen!!

Nico

Ever since he moved to the states, summers in Switzerland have always been the best part of Nico’s year. 

Spending much needed time with his family - staying with his parents for days at a time, back in his childhood home, eating his mother’s cooking and hanging out with his dad, and annual trips with his siblings, where the three of them got to spend a week together pretending like their lives hadn’t taken them away from each other. 

Despite the chaos that came as hockey season came to a close, he always looked forward to coming home.

And last year, when he had done so after one of the most heartbreaking moments of his career, he had endured what he now considers the worst summer of his life.

And it was all because of Poppy.

He can see it so much clearer with hindsight, how he had taken himself so far off the beaten path just to avoid his feelings for her, and experiencing a summer with her only makes him regret it more.

Last year, he had come home in a slump, and he had thought, at the time, it was the noise of being knocked out of the playoffs and a brief appearance at the world championships that was lingering. He thought he was exhausted, and remorseful, and that it was the failure of carrying his teams any further that was making him feel so down.

And so he had tried his best to do things that made him feel the opposite. 

He bought an apartment, not too far from his family that he felt distant, but enough so that he could be independent when he came back. And he had tried to make it feel like home - furnished nice, with personal belongings from his parent’s house that made the place feel like his, and not some rental he had no place making feel like forever.

He went on more trips with his friends, weekends away, music festivals, sporting events, and made a point of saying yes to things he might usually have turned down.

And that had been what led him to Talia - to being blinded by what probably should have stayed a summer fling, in lieu of sparing a thought to adoring eyes looking back at him from booths in bar corners, and a girl that, in the back of his mind, he had always wanted to be forever, too.

He had missed Poppy more than he ever could have realised at the time - and had fallen victim to abiding by their usual routine of radio silence in the summer, without realising that they had grown way too much since the year before to seriously keep that up.

He wishes he’d have texted her or something, back then. Commented on an instagram post, responded to a story, or called her, even. Her voice might have deterred him from ever trying to move on, and it could have saved the two of them so much time and heartache from what came as a result of that.

But maybe then she wouldn’t be here now, belly round with his child, sat out on the terrace in the back yard of his childhood home, schooling his big brother at Uno. Maybe he wouldn’t come down the stairs in the morning to the sounds of her laughing with his dad, helping him prepare breakfast for the family and asking him questions about what constitutes being offside in soccer when he’d sit down to watch Switzerland play their international games and she’d join him to try get into it, herself. 

Maybe she wouldn’t go on shopping trips with his sister, and come back with bagfuls of baby clothes that she holds up to her front as she shows them all to Nico in their room, and make comments about how she can’t believe that something so big can grow from her belly. 

Maybe she would still be someone he always wants to keep to himself, instead of sharing her with the people he loves the most in this world, only to have his love grow for her even more - and maybe that’s not how he ever wanted things to be. 

So maybe he had to suffer through the facade he put on last summer to get to where he is now, content in every possible aspect of his life, wrapped up under the bedsheets, muttering random stories to Poppy’s belly as she sleeps, the side of his finger caressing the soft skin as he anticipates whatever movement happens inside her that is going to rouse her from whatever sweet dreams he hopes she’s having. 

“What are you doing?”

There’s a brief flash of light before Poppy joins him under the covers, pulling the sheet over her head to shield them from the morning sun’s intrusion before she looks down at where he’s resting beside her belly. 

Her eyes are narrowed like they’re trying to fight consciousness, and her face is swollen in that adorable way it gets in the mornings, puffy and plump, and he wants to kiss it all over. 

She’s so beautiful, and she’s his, and it warms his heart every time he gets to wake up to her. 

“Having a private conversation with my daughter, if you don’t mind,” he smiles up to her, soft and teasing, before she kicks him gently and shuffles her way out from under the covers.

“You made her make me want to pee,” she huffs, feet padding across the room to the en suite, where she leaves the door open as she empties her bladder, and he re-situates himself back against the pillows at the top of the bed, one arm behind his head, so he can watch her when she makes her way back.

Her bump is big enough now that she almost waddles, 6 weeks of eating his mother’s cooking, and all the incredible food they have tried in  restaurants he has told her about over the years, and she had really popped in no time - and it’s the sexiest Nico thinks she’s ever been. Nose and lips constantly swollen with water retention, her voice changing, Nico witnessing the ever-growing struggle that she refuses to acknowledge - but she does everything so effortlessly, and without much complaint, that he finds it all endearing. 

His eyes are drawn to her belly every time he sees her, chest puffing with pride when he takes notice of the speedy growth of it, and he fixates on it for as long as she’ll let him - usually swatting at his chest and telling him to knock it off with a telltale flush to her cheeks whenever they’re around others.

Sharing his part of the world with her these last six weeks have been pure bliss, and as she ambles her way back over to where he lays, he can’t help but be grateful for whatever led him to this - to her crawling back into bed and straight into his arms. 

“I want you to teach me your language.” She mumbles into his chest, her body curved into his, legs tangling immediately as his arms circle around her.

“The language of love?” He asks with a wiggle of his brows, leaning in to kiss her lips, laughing against them as he feels them frown, 

“Don’t be gross you know what I mean,” she sighs, lips fighting a smile, and he kisses her again, helping her hook her leg properly over his so she can straddle him, her bump settling between the two of them as she relaxes over his hips. “Swiss-German isn’t on Duolingo, I checked. And I can’t have you and Cheeto conspiring against me in words I don’t understand, that’s not fair.”

She looks so cute, all pouty and pleading, and as the gravity of what she’s asking weighs down on him, he breaks out into a dreamy smile, himself. 

He can’t think of any other person who had wanted to speak his language. Too complicated for most, with too many dialects to grasp properly, he has always adapted to what the people around him need. English, back in the states, which he likes to think he has mastered by now, but he still trips up on the odd word, here and there.

Some Italian, some French. Odd bits of Czech and Swedish.

And German - he and Talia always spoke in plain German. 

It had never really bothered him, until now - until he has a girl on his lap, willing to learn something for him, and so their daughter can learn it too - passing his culture down another generation and sharing it with the love of his life. 

“What do you want to know?” He asks, hands on her hips as she runs hers along the broad expanse of his chest, fingers trailing on the little patch of hair on his chest that she’s always drawn too, holding him in place so she can lean in and kiss him, herself. 

“Everything,” she whispers against his skin, lips pressing back to the corner of his mouth. “You can teach me, right?”

“Yeah,” he shuffles his hips beneath her so she rests a little more comfortably, “I can teach you.”

He reaches up to move her hair behind her neck, leaning to press a kiss on the bare skin there, edging the strap of her bra down so that he can mutter the word for shoulder against the curve of hers, and she repeats it back to him, breathy and distant. 

He does the same along her collarbone, against her neck, nipping at her jaw and her cheek.

He distracts her with his teachings, and she relays each word back almost perfectly as he slowly repositions the two of them, laying her up against the pillows so she isn’t flat on her back, and pressing kisses down her body. 

With fingers grasped firmly around her calf, he lifts her leg slowly so that he can perch it over his shoulder, pecking at the side of her knee and barely just making eye contact over the curve of her bump. “You’re a fast learner, Mohn,” he praises, fingers tickling up and down her leg as she straightens her back to try and watch him as his face moves upward. “Can you remember what shoulder was?”

“Not with you between my legs like that,” she huffs, her voice just above a whisper - too used to keeping her responses low whenever the two of them have been staying at his parent’s house instead of his apartment, too used to holding back and releasing frustrated groans into the broad expanse of his chest. 

The two of them had gotten creative, most of their time spent around Nico’s friends and family, only a few days here and there alone in his apartment. 

Quickies in the car, fumbling hands under tables, rushed kisses whenever they get a second to themselves. There had even been a time where Poppy sought him out in the sauna.

“Should you be in here?” He had asked, straightening on the bench and running a hand through his hair as she came in and shut the door behind her, eyes on his glistening chest as she slowly made her way forward.

“Google says I’m good for 10 minutes,” she shrugged, reaching back to untie the straps of her bikini top. “Figured you’re so riled up you’ll only need 2 anyway.”

He had been training with Luca most of the day, leaving Poppy to hang with his sister, and the two of them had spent the entire time they were apart texting each other teasing messages about how much they missed each other - but were staying with his family again, and so the outdoor sauna he and his brother had built in the garden a couple of years ago was probably their best bet for privacy at that point.

Nico’s eyes flickered to the clock above the door, making a mental note of the time so he could make sure she was out in 8 minutes max, before helping her guide herself onto his lap, giving into both of their frustrations for as long as Poppy’s Googling would allow them. 

“You might have to teach me again when you get back from your trip.” She tells him, spreading her legs as much as she can to accommodate his figure. He’d feel guilty for leaving her behind with his family if she hadn’t been the one to push him to go away training for a week - him and Luca accepting after her insistence that she’d be fine in the company of his parents and his sister.

“We can do that,” he chuckles, his voice low, too. “And again the day after,” he kisses a little further up, twisting at her calf to reveal the inside of her thigh, “And the day after that,” and again, even further. 

“Nico,” she sighs, face scrunching, eyes fluttering shut as he glances up at her one more time, his face concealed now by the curve of her belly and relying on her subdued sounds to gauge her pleasure. 

Poppy’s back arches about as much as it can as Nico closes in on the apex of her thighs, a finger hooked through the bottom of her panties, pulling them to the side as he nips at the top of her thigh, anticipation building until her hand finds purchase on the back of his head.

He lays his tongue flat against her glistening folds, bringing it up to get a taste of the heaven between Poppy’s legs, and relies on her breathy gasps and the buck of her hips to guide him to pleasure her just how she likes, lips around the bundle of nerves that makes her jolt when he sucks a little too hard, moving slowly, teasingly at first before hunger takes over.

He can’t relent until he feels her legs trembling at either side of his head, Poppy’s body slithering beneath him as his tongue works between her folds, and he can taste nothing but her sweet arousal.

He almost loses himself in her before he distantly hears a whisper of his name, ears perking at the tone in her voice - not like the usual pleasured gasp or moan, just slightly off.

“Babe, stop,” Poppy whines, fingers clutched in his hair as he withdraws from her heat, pulling back enough to check on her over her belly.

“You okay?” He frowns, hand gripping her thigh, thumb rubbing soothingly as he takes in her frustrated expression.

“No,” she pouts, “I can’t see you. I don’t like not seeing you.”

Nico pokes his tongue to the side of his cheek to stop himself laughing, feeling her fingers loosen their grip on the strands of hair in their hold enough that he can sit up a little. “Do we need to get a little creative with mirrors, or something?”

“No, I need you to come up here.”

“But I like it down here.” He sighs in faux-protest, leaning his cheek against her knee as their gazes meet.

Poppy narrows her beautiful eyes at him, and there’s no stopping the smile after that. “My back hurts like this,” she huffs, “And I don’t want your mouth right now.”

“Well if you were patient, I would have used my fingers, too,” he chuckles, retreating entirely so he can crawl up the bed. 

“Don’t want your fingers either.” She starts making grabby hands when he gets closer, until he follows her guidance, holding himself up to the side of her and letting her pull him in to press their lips together. 

“Greedy,” he teases into her mouth, just as one of her hands drops to tug at the waistband of his boxers. He can’t blame her for wanting more, though - not with the way they’ve both been chasing every little pleasure where they can over the past 6 weeks, and not with how he’s set to spend a week away for training with his friends. 

Poppy’s hormones are yet to dissipate, and all he wants is to please her, so he lets her pull at his underwear with ease, distracting him with the swipe of her tongue against his, and the soft little moans she lets into his mouth as he works at her underwear, himself.

“You wanna go on your side?” He mumbles between her lips, remembering the position they had ended up the last time, Poppy unable to lay on her back too long, and her bump now getting in the way if she wanted to straddle him. He was too nervous for her to get on all fours, despite her protests that she could handle not collapsing onto her front, and they had ended up spooning. He had enjoyed it way more than he ever thought he would if anyone had told him months ago that being behind her on his side would have become their default position.

“Mmhm,” she hums, nodding frantically as they position themselves, his hands guiding her to comfort as she lays on her side, hair tucked behind her ear so he can press his lips to the curve of her neck before sinking into her from behind, her back arched just right to make it easy for him. 

“Fuck,” he groans under his breath as he pushes himself in to the hilt, Poppy squeaking, her arm bent back and nails digging into his shoulder, “You feel so good, baby.”

She feels tight and warm around him, in a way that makes him feel like his head might explode in pure bliss, and he presses his chest straight to her back. Their skin sticks together with perspiration, clamminess building as he starts to move, and her head falls back, baring the elongated slope of her neck for him to bury his nose into.

She smells so good, even after a full night tossing and turning in his arms, and the ever-present scent of his body wash lingers in the depths of her skin, Nico inhaling fully as her hips press back onto his, a slow rhythm building.

He holds himself up with an elbow against the mattress, his other arm curling over her waist, hand reaching between her legs to rub at her clit, slick with arousal and swollen from his previous attention to it, causing her legs to tremble again. 

Her arm tangles with his, nails scraping at his skin, pushing to apply more pressure where she needs it the most, and he grunts lowly into her neck, nipping at her skin and lifting his chin every now and then to gauge her response to his ministrations.

He can see her jaw slack, head craned back, lashes fluttering in blissed-out euphoria as she grows closer to her peak - and Nico is so in tune with her now that he feels like he’s there with her. A night pressed against her, and his previous stint between her legs already adding to his pleasure, and he can feel the tell-tale tension in the pit of his stomach, muscles in his thighs growing taut as he kicks up his pace a little, Poppy quietly moaning like music to his ears.

“You gonna come, huh?” He asks in a breathy growl, lips moving against the sensitive skin of her neck, “Can feel you getting close, baby, you’re so good for me.”

Nico can never forget the way such praise had made her cheeks flush all those months ago, the first time they had ever slept together - the night their baby girl had been conceived, and their lives had been set to change forever. He’s always seeking that same reaction, that glint in her eye and the stutter of her hips - and she always gives him just what he wants, walls tightening around him in a mind-numbing pressure, thighs shivering, spine curving, all muscles tensing as she falls apart. And he soon follows, coming inside of her like he’s all too used to now, teeth pressed into her shoulder and chest panting against her back.

The arm she had intertwined with his soon untangles itself to reach back and stroke through his hair as he comes down, scratching at his scalp as she gets her own breath back.

He brings his hand up to his mouth to clean his fingers of her arousal before he goes back to rest his hands against her belly, still inside her until he softens, pressing soft kisses to her skin until she giggles a little when it tickles, and the vibrations of her laughter force him to pull out before he starts to grow hard again.

He does so with a grunt and a hand on her hip, rolling out of the bed and toward the bathroom to get a cloth to clean her up, returning to her blissed out form splayed out on the mattress.

He bites back a smile as their eyes meet, edging her legs apart so he can wipe between them, swiping softly at her sensitive folds and watching her smile sleepily back at him as her chest rises and falls in laboured breaths. 

“Thank you,” she sighs, blinking slowly, and he feels his cheeks push into a dimpled grin as he watches her - completely lost in the afterglow.

“You don’t have to thank me, baby,” he throws the cloth over to the nightstand, crawling up Poppy’s body to press his lips to hers.

“You make me really happy.”

He smiles, slow but big, eyes tracing the way hers crinkle a little in the corners. “You make me happy too.”

“I said really happy.”

“You make me the happiest man in the world.”

“That’s better.” She bumps her nose against his before kissing him again. “You’re a quick learner, too.”

He chuckles against the corner of her mouth, pressing one more sweet kiss there before pushing himself up, looking around the floor for his pants. “Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll bring you some breakfast? Make you really really happy,”

“Or we could eat together and you could shower with me? We could have some more fun-,”

“I’m not falling for that again, babe, you don’t want to have fun, you want me to wash your hair because your arms ache.”

He’s been lured into the shower one too many times over the past 6 weeks with the promise of a good time, only for Poppy to claim they couldn’t get too frisky and risk slipping, so he may as well put his hands to good use and shampoo her hair - guiding him on where she liked him to apply pressure until he was pretty much giving her a scalp massage.

Poppy pouts, sinking back against the pillows as she watches him hop into his underwear, pulling the briefs until the waistband snaps against his hips, her eyes following them all the way up his legs. “I thought you loved me.”

His laughter bubbles all the way up from the pit of his stomach, swirling with adoration and amusement. 

“And now you’re laughing. Unbelievable.” She scoffs, feigning irritation with a telltale quiver at the corner of her lips. “Do I need to remind you that you’re going away for a whole week tomorrow? Living it up with your buddies and leaving me in the dust. I’m owed like 2 more orgasms at least before then.”

“I’ll give you three tonight, I promise.” He leans in again, thinking he’ll never make it out of the room at this point, Poppy having the most kissable lips in the entire universe. “We’ll figure out the mirror thing, so you can see me better between your legs.”

She hums against his mouth as she kisses him once more before asking, “Can you make me avocado toast please?”

“And a smoothie?” He asks, stepping away so that he isn’t drawn back in until mid-day.

She nods, a pretty smile stretching out across her swollen lips, watching as he walks backward towards the door. He keeps his eyes on her until he closes the door behind him, making his way through his family home with a smile that won’t give, feeling confident in his previous sentiment uttered to her. 

Nico Hischier might just be the happiest man in the world.

Nico had thought being away from Poppy for a whole week would have been torturous - that he would be counting down the hours until he could get back to her, distant from his friends and hating every second apart - but it had almost been the opposite of that, and he only had her to thank.

He thinks that maybe 6 weeks of living out the dream life with her, and knowing that would be exactly what he was returning to, allowed him to enjoy his week away - even though it wasn’t exactly a break. 

His off-season training had kicked up a gear while he was away, and he was thankful that he didn’t have to mope around missing her all the time and could concentrate a little on his gruelling routine.

They FaceTimed every morning, and every night before she went to sleep. Texted throughout the day, sending pictures back and forth of what each other got up to - Poppy spending her days with his parents and his sister, being doted on by his entire family in his absence, in ways that made his heart grow ten-fold, and his days spent training, lifting, running, hiking, doing all sorts of activities that he would send her several videos of and she would respond with some crazy comment that made him laugh out loud. 

She never made him feel guilty for being away from her - never made it seem like she felt like second best to his schedule, or his career, or the season looming in the background of their relationship. She never complained about him not being around, only ever gushed about who was back home with her - telling him how much she loved hanging around with Nina, who was back in Switzerland taking her on spa trips and exploring the city with her, teaching her about their hometown and filling in all the blanks that Nico had yet to clue her in on. 

And he was getting chirped like hell for walking around with a constant dopey smile on his face - something he should know better by now than to do on a boys trip, but he was long past caring.

He had the girl of his dreams blending in with the family he loved more than anything, and a little girl on the way - his best friend and brother rallying the boys to poke fun at him at the dinner table could do nothing to diminish the flame that was fuelled within him.

“I’m on my own when we get back to Jersey, even Nico’s wifed off, now,” Timo jokes as they sit around a large restaurant table on their last night of their trip, his big arm resting on the back of his chair as he sips on his beer. 

“You’re getting married, too?” Their friend Leo asks, brows raised as the influx of new information hits him all at once. “You guys don’t tell me anything!”

“It’s just a saying,” Nico scoffs, his bottle pressed to his lips before he takes a swig, “We’re not engaged.”

“Yet.” Luca adds, “I give him a month before he asks her, though. You should see him around her, he’s obsessed.”

“It won’t be a month,” he denies, ignoring the second half of the sentence, completely - there’s really no point denying that anymore, “I’d have to get her dad’s permission or whatever, and her parents sort of hate me.”

Timo barks out a laugh from across the table, “Oh yeah, he yelled at her dad!”

“You yelled at someone?”

“I didn’t yell,” he frowns, the word starting to lose all meaning with its overuse. “I just called him out over something. And, to be honest, I think he might have liked me more after that.”

Nico doesn’t really like looking back on that first night at the Jensen house - there was probably no preparing him for what he was walking into, and, entirely overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all, he had lost his head. But their family dynamic was difficult.

He had witnessed it only in short bursts, before - had seen Poppy around her mom a few times, had met her dad once before that in passing - and being immersed in it, being looked down on by her mother all day, overshadowed by her brother, ignored by her father, watching the whole conversation around their pregnancy unfold at the dinner table, tensions high and emotions rampant, he had let his frustrations build to the point of boiling over.

When Poppy’s brother had first started berating her, he had tried to write it off in his head as sibling banter of sorts. He and his siblings were never quite as cruel, but he knows sometimes brothers and sisters bicker like Poppy and Oli had - biting remarks and words intended to hurt. Then, it had spiralled.

He’s seen Poppy stick up for herself, before, but he’s never experienced her blow up like that. And he had understood it completely, considering he was reaching the brink of eruption, himself - and that’s not taking into account her heightened pregnancy hormones.

He had felt protective, and even upset, himself, that this thing his family had embraced with open arms, had celebrated at time where he and Poppy needed it the most, that was turning his life around in all the best possible ways, was being rained on by the rest of them, and when Poppy had stormed off, and her mom had followed, he couldn’t sit there in silence and not say something.

What kind of partner would that have made him?

“I think you underestimate her.” He had said, quiet but firm, as silence settled over the table in Poppy’s absence. 

The reactions had been slow, a gradual raise of Oli’s head, matching that of his wife, beside him, who pressed her lips together to hide what Nico hoped was a smile, and the prolonged lowering of cutlery from her father. 

“Excuse me?” Philip asked, leaning onto his elbows. “What did you say?”

“Poppy,” Nico clarified, “I don’t think that any of you really understand what she’s capable of.”

“That’s my daughter you’re talking about, I think I of all people understand-,”

“She’s really smart,” Nico had interjected before he lost the courage to do so, ignoring the twinge in his gut that told him to calm down, that he shouldn’t be risking his relationship with the future grandfather of his baby like this. “And really independent, and she somehow always knows what to do if you drop her into the middle of a really tough situation. If you could see her at work, you’d get it, people go to Poppy to fix things and for her to help them, and support them, and she always does it because that’s the kind of person she is.”

Neither of them had seemed to react, but had been so far into hyping himself up to let all of his thoughts out that he doesn’t think he would have noticed if they had. 

“You guys might not see it because you only see her as your daughter, or your little sister, but she is the strongest person I know. She’s an incredible woman, and she’s going to be an even better mother, and she deserves, more than anybody else, for her family to have her back right now.”

“It was just a joke, man,” Oli had scoffed, “It’s not that serious.”

“It is to her. She spent the entire ride here talking about you guys, about your family and everything you’ve built for yourself in California,” Nico had nodded to her brother, remembering all the ways Poppy had hidden her admiration for him behind sarcastic comments - even before the drive from Jersey City, over the years where she had opened up to him about her family, he had always seen a small dash of affection for her older brother - before turning to her dad, “And everything you’ve achieved, sir, everything you’ve built for yourself, and for your kids. She just wants to be seen as an equal, and I think if either of you actually noticed her, you’d see just what she’s capable of, and you wouldn’t make digs at her,” he had narrowed his eyes at Oli, “Or sit in silence while others make her feel like crap.” He hadn’t quite been able to meet Mr Jensen’s eye, but he felt a little relieved that he had managed to say what he needed. “You’re both supposed to have her back.”

Neither of them had come back to him after that, tensions rising once more in the growing silence, the hammering of his heart and the rush of blood to his head the only thing he could hear before he had excused himself, and had ascended through the house to find Poppy in her room. 

He hadn’t told Poppy at the time what he had said - he felt no need to do so, it wouldn’t have changed anything, and might have made her upset or even more stressed, which he never wanted to do. But Philip had changed after - had made more efforts to be there for Poppy, to get to know Nico, and the two of them had even gotten onto texting terms. 

So he doesn’t necessarily think that her parents hate him, but it’s definitely too soon to be asking for their daughter’s hand in marriage, even if it feels like the right thing to do.

Even if the thought of it has started to keep him awake at night, as Poppy tosses and turns to get comfortable beside him. Even if he finds himself stroking at the bare surface of her ring finger when they hold hands, and introducing her to others as his wife in a language she doesn’t fully grasp - pretending it’s a joke she isn’t clued in on, when really it feels more like a manifestation.

He twirls the ring she had gifted him on his own ring finger, the weight of it especially present in the midst of this conversation, frowning as Timo levels him with a stern look.

“You know that getting her dad’s permission isn’t like the law or anything right?”

He does know that. If he’s honest, he knows he’s using it as an excuse, too - but admitting to that at dinner with the boys feels like he’s setting himself up for an entire night of chirps.

He and Poppy have only technically been together for a couple months, and most of that time had already been spent apart. When he had asked her to move in, she had taken offence at him only asking due to the convenience of it all, and he half expects the same if he gets down on one knee.

He can hear her already, some muttering of, you only want to marry me because I’m having your baby, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

When Nico pictures his future, he pictures Poppy. 

Everything revolves around Poppy.

And yeah, their baby girl plays a big factor in that - seeing Poppy as a mother, raising their daughter together, providing a happy, stable home for her to thrive in. But it’s so much more than that, too.

It’s her being his partner. Waking up to her, tracing over the soft curve of her lips as she rouses from sleep, and knowing, as sure of anything in his heart, that no day can ever be bad if it starts out like that. 

Feeling secure in his job, despite all the times in his life he has felt anything but, and knowing that he can succumb to the pressure of it all without having to worry about her bailing. She has his back in ways no body ever has before. She understands the demand of his career, the fact that he isn’t available at all hours of the day to her every need - but she can take care of herself. She would rather do so, and she doesn’t make him feel guilty for the fact that sometimes his schedule takes priority - because the times that he can prioritise her are valued in ways that he never thought he could provide - not if anybody asked any of his exes, at least.

She understands his role as a captain, how he has to be there for the guys, understands his love for doing so, and has never in their entire relationship, made him feel like it’s a burden, or that she feels neglected because of it.

Even before they crossed the boundaries of something more. When they were just friends - as if they were ever just anything - and he could vent all of his worries and stresses to her, and she’d talk him out of ever seeing the negatives.

She has some sort of superpower, he thinks, for turning things around like that, and he wants to bask in the glory of it for the rest of his life.

He wants that warm feeling that floods his chest at the thought of going home to her after a long day to never go away.

And he knows that it isn’t a chunk of metal around her finger, or signatures on paper, that solidifies that.

But he wants it, all the same.

“I don’t know, we haven’t been together that long.”

Timo barks out a laugh, and a couple other guys at the table raise their brows. 

“Do you know when I first got to Jersey, Siegs was the one who introduced me to Poppy? You know what he said?”

Nico shakes his head, a crease forming between his brows as he frowns at his friend. 

“He points at her from across the room, we were at a bar, the one near his place, he says that’s Poppy, and I look over and I think, whoa, she’s gorgeous, maybe I will like it here,” Nico narrows his eyes as Timo recalls the story, his hands unintentionally balling into fists below the table, “And before I can even get a word out, he goes, Nico’s Poppy. He told me not to even think about it.”

“We weren’t in a relationship, though.” He argues, despite the way his lips twist into an almost-smile, one trying to hide itself from prying eyes. He does quite like the ring of that. Nico’s Poppy.

It reflects that base level possessiveness he feels when he looks at her - the way he’s probably felt since the day they met, sharing a bond he had never really shared with anyone else. Feeling jealous when any of the other guys would talk to her alone, as petty as it might have been, and only ever wanting her attention on him. 

“You’ve always been in something with her,” Timo shrugs, “There’s no point delaying the inevitable if it means you get to make sure she’s your Poppy forever.”

“We don’t have to be married for her to be mine.”

He does feel comfortable knowing that - feels sure and safe in their dynamic, now - knowing the life they share, the home they share, the baby they’re so close to bringing into this world together. Knowing how much she loves him, how much she’s willing to be there for him, even when he feels like he isn’t enough for her. 

He’s never felt so secure in a relationship in his life, and he doesn’t need to force either of them into marriage when they’ve never really had that conversation - even if the few times he’s attempted to joke about it, she has been receptive.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to talk yourself out of it.” Luca chimes in from the side of Nico, “You’re never gonna find anybody more perfect for you. I think our parents like her more than they even like us at this point,” he tells the rest of the table, swatting at his little brother’s shoulder, before reaching for his beer. 

“Yeah,” Nico sighs with a smile, knowing already there’s no one more perfect for him - he’s only been cursing himself all summer for not coming to that conclusion much sooner. ���Mom will probably already have asked her for me while she’s been with her this week.”

He knows he’s delaying the inevitable, trying to pretend that marriage isn’t what he wants right now with Poppy - he had pictured it the second she told him she was pregnant, his life flashing before his eyes in home-movie-esque glimpses, babies, and white dresses, and a big house with a nice plot of land in the back for him to build a tree house like in the movies.

He knows, too, deep down, that there is the slimmest possible chance of rejection. She loves him. She shows him every day just how much - and she’s been so willing, so far, to fit herself into his life in whatever way is easiest. 

He knows when he sees her, tomorrow, that the thought of dropping to one knee as soon as his eyes lock on her will cross his mind.

And he thinks when he does get back, after a week of chirps about being wifed off, he might just test the waters.

Nico doesn’t think he’s ever had a quicker flight than the one he and Luca took back from Tenerife. From check-in, to boarding, to the plane ride, itself, he felt like he had blinked and landed back on home soil, heart beating that little bit quicker in anticipation of seeing Poppy - of his eyes laying on that perfect bump for the first time in a week and catching the slightest difference, making up for lost time while they can in the privacy of their apartment before they spend the week with his brother and sister.

The train ride from the airport flies by too - Nico feeling excitement akin to when he was younger, and his dad would take him and Luca to go practice at their local rink, and he was at a point in his life that he loved nothing more than hockey, wanted nothing more than to don his skates and play to his heart’s content.

He feels that way about Poppy, now, he thinks. 

Like she’s something he can dream toward - push and strive to keep her in his life for as long as he possibly can. 

It feels like the blink of an eye before he’s putting his key in the door of the apartment, pushing in with his case following behind him, discarded in the entryway as he steps though the hall in search of her. 

“Baby, are you home?” He calls, his heart thumping as he waits to catch his first proper glimpse of her in a week.

“In the kitchen!” She calls back, voice like his favourite song, and when he steps into the room he sees her by the oven, prepping for dinner. When she had first offered to pick him up from the train station, he had joked that he didn’t trust her driving alone on European roads, but the truth of it was that he felt better coming home to her - where she was safe, and he wasn’t putting her out just so that he could selfishly see her sooner. 

And seeing her there, in the heart of the apartment he had bought last summer, when the idea of her ever being in it was nothing but a dream, swollen and round and growing their baby, he thinks that reality is more than worth the wait.

“Hey,” he sidles up behind her, arms placed on either side of her body on the counter as she chops at some peppers. Poppy angles her head so that he can press his usual kiss to her cheek, and Nico feels it puff up with a smile. 

She smells clean and fresh, like home, like a mixture of the detergent she uses on their sheets, and his body wash that she still likes to steal, and he swipes his nose at her flesh as he takes a prolonged inhale of her skin, filling his lungs with the familiarity of it and making up for the days he spent away. 

“Hi,” she turns back enough that he can press a kiss to her swollen lips, slow and sweet, “I figured you’d be beat when you got home so I ran you a bath, I only just shut it off like 2 minutes ago.”

He kind of likes how there isn’t a big fuss about him coming home - likes that she’s welcoming him back like it hasn’t been almost a week, and it diminishes the guilt he had been feeling for leaving her behind at all. It reinforces the thoughts he’s always had - that Poppy makes everything easy. 

She puts the knife down and turns in his arms when he kisses her again, and his hand swipes from the curve of her belly to the small of her back, keeping her stomach pressed to his.

“You’re too good to me,” he mumbles before his lips touch hers again, nose bumping teasingly at hers when she starts to chase him for more. “There’s room in that tub for 3, you know.”

“It’s supposed to be for you to relax,” she tells him as her hands travel the broad expanse of his chest, sweeping to his shoulders and down the width of his arms that are circled around her. “And I’ll have dinner ready for when you get out.”

“Trust me, Mohn,” he hums, his hands travelling slowly down her sides, “That is my idea of relaxing.” And then he leans down to hook an arm behind her knees, lifting her before she has a chance to protest, all too prepared after a week of training to carry her down the hall toward the bathroom, making sure she isn’t too curled up that it’s uncomfortable with her bump. “Dinner can wait.”

“You missed me that much, huh?” She giggles as he sends a gentle kick to the door, letting it swing open before he steps into the room. “You gonna have me sit on your lap while we eat, too?”

“Yeah, you can feed me if you want,” he laughs as he places her on the counter in the bathroom, her legs parting immediately for him to slot himself between them. “And I missed you more than it might be healthy to admit.”

“I missed you too,” Poppy smiles softly, hands reaching up to tuck the grown out flicks of hair behind his ears as his own hands place themselves on either side of her hips, “Appreciated all those sweaty workout videos you sent me though, definitely made up for you being gone.”

“Thought they might,” Nico chuckles as he starts working at undressing her, sliding her shorts down her legs and throwing them into the hamper. “Appreciated that video you sent me of your belly moving like something out of Alien.”

“She’ll probably start up soon, she likes to move while I’m eating now, she keeps getting the hiccups, it’s quite cute.”

Nico leans down once he’s lifted the big t-shirt that covers Poppy’s torso, and while she works it off, he presses a soft kiss to her bare belly, nudging the curve of it with his nose before he stands to his usual height and starts to work his own clothes off. He can feel the heat of her gaze as he steps out of his underwear, and it prickles at his skin like a lingering longing, like the way his own feelings have lingered over the past week.

A week where he had pushed forward on the sheer thought of Poppy, and now that she’s in front of him, those thoughts swirl into something overwhelming. 

He offers her a hand to help her down from the counter, and guides her toward the tub, the water still hot, but not scolding, on it’s way to tepid as he steps in and positions himself toward the back. He holds her steady as she steps over the edge, and sinks down as she lowers herself, her bump making it difficult to do so with ease, but he spreads his legs for her to sink back into him, and he soon feels her relax with her back to his front.

“Does it hurt,” he mutters with his limbs curved around hers, “When she moves a lot?”

He had noticed before he left that things had become a little more difficult for Poppy - sleeping, staying on her feet for extended periods - and when she had sent him a video of movements she could see through her belly, he had thought it seemed uncomfortable, but she just shrugs against him.

“It’s just weird, I guess,” she sighs, muscles seeming to melt against him. “Depends how she’s positioned, she was playing my ribs like a xylophone the other day, that wasn’t fun.”

Nico smiles, hand coming around her front to caress her belly, rubbing gentle circles into her soft skin. “Where is she now?”

“I think her butt is at the front,” her hand rests on top of his, moving it up a little, and a bit more to the side, “She’s gonna give me hell later, I can feel it.”

“Maybe she’ll behave now that her daddy’s home,” he mutters, his lips falling by instinct to kiss at Poppy’s bare shoulder before he hooks his chin over it, “Maybe she missed me too.”

“She definitely missed you. She practically did somersaults every time you came up in conversation.”

“My girl,” he smiles into Poppy’s neck, “Did she kick for Nina yet?”

“Oh yeah,��� she laughs, her hand moving to trail up and down Nico’s leg beside her, “She jumped around so much in there that I learned a new word while you were gone.”

“From Nina?”

“Häsli,” she says with perfect, practiced pronunciation. 

“Little bunny,” Nico chuckles, both hands patting at the bump where his daughter rests. “I like it.”

“Good, ‘cause your parents have started calling her it, too. No respect for Cheeto around here.”

Nico finds himself melting in ways he didn’t think he needed to - an ache so present in his bones he hadn’t even realised it was there, all of a sudden fading to nothing as he sits in the tepid, soapy water with his girls in front of him. Poppy absentmindedly uses her fingers to trickle droplets down his calves, and makes space for him to rest his head in the space where her neck and shoulder meets. 

“Who’s the better teacher?” He asks, looking up and watching as the width of her cheeks puff out into a close-lipped smile. 

“Well, you have an automatic advantage, considering I can’t ask your sister to teach me all the dirty stuff.”

“Is that all I’m good for, the dirty stuff?”

“I’m yet to be able to hold a conversation that has nothing to do with body parts, so you tell me.”

“Yeah, well the more you learn, the less I get away with, so we might have to put a pause on the lessons.”

“And what is it you think you’ve been getting away with?” Poppy asks, twisting a little so she can look back at him, and it’s when her eyes meet his that Nico feels some warped sense of security wash over him. He hadn’t planned on bringing this up, especially not so soon after coming back from his trip, but it just feels right.

And it’s better to get it out of the way sooner - where better to test the waters than in the bathtub?

“Whenever we meet someone, I’ve been introducing you as my wife,” he admits, cheek pressed to her shoulder blade as he looks up at her through thick lashes. 

Her lips twist in amusement, eyes shimmering in the warm light of the bathroom, and it seems like she’s biting back a smile at the revelation. His heartbeat steadies just a little. “Oh really? How have you been getting around the distinct lack of a ring on my finger?”

“I tell them your hands are too swollen to wear it,” he admits, taking a hand from her belly to pick up her left one. 

Her smile fades slowly as she glances down, his fingers squeezing a little at the one closest to her pinky. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Very.”

“What about-,” she starts, and before she can glance back, Nico lifts his own left hand in anticipation of what she’s about to ask, the signet ring she had gifted him when she first came overseas, that she hasn’t even noticed for as long as they’ve been together out here, sitting comfortably on his own ring finger. “Oh.”

“I can get you your own, if you want,” he tries, trying not to hold his breath as he makes the suggestion - makes light of it, even, just to test her reaction. Her face is angled forward as she looks down at his finger, and her own hand twists to fiddle with the ring that sits there, so he can’t exactly see what she’s thinking. “I know you said you already had one, but-,”

“Just to sell the story better?” She asks, still looking at his hand. 

“Or because I’m in love with you,” he pouts, his lips moving against her skin as he speaks, anticipating a rejection of sorts - although he still feels the lax press of her spine to his chest. She hasn’t gone rigid, hasn’t recoiled from his touch - their bodies are still merged together in the tight space, and a part of him feels better for it. 

She turns, finally, levelling him with a look that has her gaze flickering between his eyes, like she’s trying to read his mind.

“You better not be proposing to me in the bathtub,” she frowns, “You can’t ask someone for their hand in marriage within 6 feet of a toilet, Nico, that’s definitely an unwritten rule.”

He feels something dissolve in his chest as it bubbles with affection, spreading through his bloodstream and directing itself to every corner of his body - joyous laughter rippling up his throat and spilling out into her neck. 

“Why are you laughing?” She giggles, her body shaking against his in the most delightful way, “I’m dead serious, anywhere but the bathroom, please.”

“Okay,” he chuckles, wanting nothing more than to lean up and press his lips to her beautiful smile. “I’ll bare that in mind.”

“You do that.”

I will, he thinks, taking that as her confirmation.

Not in the bathtub is a far cry from not ever.

Maybe Timo was right - as much as it pains Nico to think - maybe she has always been his Poppy, and maybe, if he can find the right time and place to ask, she always will be. 

Poppy

Last year, Poppy’s summer had felt like the longest of her life.

She had worked all the way through to Mid-July - choosing to work around the summer programmes that were run through the Foundation had taken up most of her time, and she would rather have taken the extra pay than mope around thinking about how everyone else was spending their time off.

Ever since college, she and Nia would spend their weekends together in the summer - and that worked the same last year, with both of them still working in Jersey and having their family nearby. It worked for their other friends too - until their lives away from the group started to take priority, and their group became whittled down to just the two best friends.

Friend group outings had become a rare occurrence, and so when they did happen, they were quite the spectacle - weekend trips down to Atlantic City, or bagging invites to parties the girls really had no business being - like rooftop bars in Manhattan, where a player from the Giants was throwing a party, and their friend Kelsey’s boyfriend, Liam, had somehow secured their names on the list. 

Poppy and Nia always got ready together - reminiscent of their teenage years, blasting music through the speakers in Poppy’s bedroom and letting Nia raid her closet while she did her makeup.

“We’re gonna need to prep Els on how to be cool, she can’t be asking for players to sign her napkin so she can frame it for Jensen.” Nia called as she came out of Poppy’s closet, shrugging into the strappy sleeves of a mini dress she had borrowed, pulling her hair from getting tangled beneath the arms. 

“Elsie’s not coming,” Poppy replied absentmindedly, a small, soft brush sweeping pigment across her eyelid, “It’s just me, you and Kels,”

“What? Why?” Nia had whined, zipping her dress up behind her back. “Did her sitter bail?”

“This stays between me and you, but she’s pregnant again,” Poppy told her, relaying the cliff-notes version of the hour-long conversation she had had with her cousin earlier that day. “So no more girls nights with her for a while.”

“Poor girl,” Nia huffed, falling back onto Poppy’s bed so that she could put her heels on, “I can’t think of anything worse than being pregnant right now, I’m in my prime, I’m not letting anyone dislodge my organs. Nothing is worth that kind of damage.”

“Gross” Poppy shuddered, the thought of having a baby and her age sending literal shivers down her spine. “But same. I’m so far off of being ready to be a parent, it isn’t even funny.”

She had weirdly enough been thinking a lot about what her life was turning out to be around that time - spearing straight for her 25th birthday and feeling the daunting pressure of a looming quarter-life crisis, she had put some thought at least into the traditional stuff.

But babies hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind. 

“Plus, it’s hard enough to find a remotely decent guy to go on one singular date with, never mind raise a child. Elsie got lucky with Jared.”

“Right,” Nia had scoffed half-heartedly, ambling up behind Poppy and finishing off the curls in her hair. There had been a look in her eyes - dismissive and evasive - that had caught Poppy’s attention.

“What’s the look for?”

“Nothing,” Nia shrugged, lips turned down in denial and continuing to work at her best friend’s hair. “Just think that for you of all people, it’s not that hard to find somebody decent.”

Poppy frowned, watching Nia behind her, trying to think of a single guy she had ever dated or spoken to that had garnered her approval.

She had always been supportive of Poppy, knowing that if she were to start something up with a guy, it would be after a lot of thought and meticulous research - Poppy rarely dated, and if she did, it mostly didn’t work because she wasn’t that good at it. She was always so focused on work, and her friends, that trying to make time for anybody outside of all that just felt exhausting. 

Guys usually ended up breaking things off with her, telling her they could tell her heart wasn’t in it, and Nia would always curse them whenever Poppy relayed it back to her, but there was always that look - like she knew something Poppy didn’t.

“You’ve literally watched my every attempt at a relationship crash and burn, Ni,” she narrowed her eyes, “I don’t get what part of my dating life seems easy to you.”

“The part where you have a ready made relationship just waiting for you to press the start button.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nico,” Nia said, like it had been the most obvious answer in the world. 

The last thing Poppy had wanted to think about - again - was Nico.

She had been trying to think of anything but since he had left Jersey, but everything unfortunately was starting to remind her of him, just as they did every other summer.

Walks in the sun, passing places they would always go together - snapping a picture of a coffee from her favourite shop and thinking of who she could send it to instead of him. Running their shared route, soft breeze running through her hair as she jogged through the park, playing music in her headphones that he had once recommended.

It had been hard to shake him off - but she had grown to be good at it over the years.

Nia bringing him up had been new - unexpected - and wasn’t contributing to the routine of forgetting he existed until he would come back to New Jersey in September. 

“The second that one of you makes a move, you’re literally ready to go with the perfect man.”

“I’m not gonna be in a relationship with Nico,” Poppy snickered, trying to find humour in what nonsense her best friend was coming up with. 

She didn’t have a ready to go relationship with Nico Hischier. They were friends. That was all they would ever be.

And not only had she told Nia that a hundred times before, she also knew that Nico had said the same - shrugging off jokes made in front of the two of them and smiling awkwardly at Poppy whenever anyone had dared to make a comment on their friendship being anything other than just that. 

“We don’t even talk for like 4 months out of the year,” Poppy frowned, referring to the routine Nico had adopted over the years, of returning home to Switzerland for the summers, and leaving his friendship with Poppy behind - only communicating through social media likes and odd messages in the same conversation thread within a wider group chat.

She had never really minded it - not to the point of moping - but she had always wished things could be just a little different on that front.

“I don’t get why you guys don’t just text each other,” Nia rolled her eyes as she ran the barrel of the curling iron down the lengths of Poppy’s hair, eyes meeting hers in the reflection of the mirror. “You act like you’re not allowed to cross his mind all summer, it’s stupid, no offence.”

“He deserves a break, Ni,” Poppy had shrugged, “From everything, especially after how the season ended, I’m just a reminder of his life here, and he probably wants to escape that.”

“I don’t think he means you when he says those sorts of things, babe,” she responded, letting the curl drop into her free hand and scrunching it until it cooled down. 

“How did we even get onto this?”

“Because I’ve been looking for an opportunity to bring it up, duh,” Nia jested, “C’mon, just reach out. It doesn’t have to be a text, what was the last thing he posted on his instagram stories? Just reply to that.”

Poppy’s lips twisted, her phone feeling increasingly heavy in her grip as she weighed her options up. 

For as long as she had known him, her and Nico would never really talk over the summer. She lived her life, and he lived his, away from the Devils, away from The Rock, and it had worked well, for the most part.

Sure, a part of her always missed him. A part of her would watch his stories over, would think about what his life in Switzerland looked like, and if she could ever possibly fit into it - but another part, a larger part, would suppress all that. Push her feelings back down until they were nothing - shut away behind some barricaded door in the back of her mind.

It was weird, she thought, how much they flourished in his absence - thoughts she wouldn’t usually spare dedicated to him. Especially now that Nia was bringing it up out of nowhere.

Her perceptive best friend suggesting there could ever have been something more was sparking a flame within her she had long tried to put out. But it wasn’t entirely Nia’s doing - there had been embers floating around her subconscious for a while, now.

She blamed that night in Finnegan’s Bar, not long before he had left.

Cuddled up to him in that booth, comfortable in the lingering silence, the steady beat of his heart below her hand. She had thought, at the end of that night, that something might have been different - and she realised that had probably been why she was thinking about him more that summer.

Poppy unlocked her phone and brought up her Instagram, scrolling through the stories on the home page until she saw his picture. 

“It’ll probably be some workout video, I can’t reply to that, he’s gonna think I’m thirsty.”

“You are,” Nia had jibed, “Pop, honey, you either gotta put up or shut up. If you’re not gonna reach out, I don’t wanna hear any more of your whining about him for the rest of the month.”

“You brought him up,” Poppy frowned, “Please be kinder to me when you have hot tools in your hands, you’re giving me anxiety.”

“Whatever, I’m gonna get another drink before we go, do you want one?”

“I’m good,” Poppy smiled, watching her best friend put the curling iron down safely on the heat-proof mat on her dresser and make her way out of the bedroom and through to the kitchen. 

Her thumb had hovered on her screen for a good minute before she pressed down, biting the bullet and viewing his most recent story with bated breath. 

There were a few of them - it seemed like he was out with friends - probably-drunken selfies and videos of a DJ at some club - but the last photo was the one that caught her attention, properly. 

Nico with his arms around a girl - a gorgeous girl, sharp features, perfect hair, piercing eyes, a killer smile - and his lips pressed to her temple. 

She had let the photo time out before it shrunk away into his private profile, and she had felt like time had stopped in place after that - until the sound of Nia’s heels clicking back down the hallway caught her attention.

“I know you said no but I made mine too strong so I had to pour it out a little and make two,” she had said as she entered the room, Poppy locking her phone and turning it face down before she could see.

“Thanks,” she had accepted the drink with a smile, gulping it down in the hopes that the liquor might have burned through some of the growing ache in her chest. 

“Damn girl,” Nia had scoffed, “Thought you were good?”

“I realised I should drink for two, considering Elsie can’t anymore.”

“Good point! We should both do that, show our solidarity for the cause.”

“Exactly. Getting shit-faced is what she’d want us to do in her honour.”

Nia glanced down at Poppy’s downturned phone - a look Poppy wouldn’t have caught if she wasn’t nervously watching her best friend in the hopes that she, for once in her life, wouldn’t be so perceptive. 

“I’ll have a baby with you.”

Poppy laughed, right from the depths of her chest, tension easing from her shoulders as she shook her head.

“I don’t want a baby,” she declined, rolling her eyes and standing up, “I want to get drunk on rooftop bars with my friends and NFL players and eat as much deli meat and cheese as my body can handle for as long as it can handle it.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

Poppy didn’t know at the time why that picture on Nico's story had felt like a kick to the gut, but she had swallowed down her hurt and smiled, tight lipped, at her best friend.

Getting wasted and forgetting about Nico for the rest of the summer - that had sounded like a plan. 

Looking back on last summer, Poppy barely recognises her old life. Rooftop parties with endless cocktails, tiny dresses and high heels and hair that didn’t fall flat and frizzy the second she blinked too hard at it in the mirror. 

She can barely remember being able to look down at her thighs without being sat down.

The only thing that remains the same is finding time to lounge around on the beach. Growing up, spending her time on Jersey beaches - her family renting a house in Mantoloking most years, or making the trip down to Ocean City and Cape May with her girls when she was old enough - had become a staple for her, and she has been so thankful that it’s something her and Nico share a love of.

She’s adored her summer in Switzerland, so far - as far away from expectations as it might yet have been. 

She hadn’t expected to get such little one-on-one time with Nico, but she can hardly complain - not when his family and friends have all welcomed her with such open arms. It’s something so new to her too, getting to do everything in a group, bonding with more than just Nico, sharing parts of herself and her life beyond what she has only ever shared with him before, and she’s never really felt so at home with such a close-knit family.

She watches sports on the couch with his dad, goes to the grocery store with his mom, plays cards out on the deck with his brother, spends as much time with his sister as she would with Nia back home in Jersey, and she gets Nico to herself at night, or on the rare couple of days in a row they’ll stay in his apartment closer to the city.

But she loves this - being so close with everyone. Loves it so much that she doesn’t really care that it isn’t just her and Nico, she doesn’t really want it to be.

Katja helps her through the rough stages of her pregnancy - sometimes anticipating symptoms before they even come on, sharing tips on how to lessen the constant ache in her stomach, how to sleep easier, what supplements she can take that don’t make her feel nauseous again or bloated and heavy. 

Rino helps too, recalling what he can of his wife’s pregnancies, remembering how Katja could get her back pain to go away by relaxing in a rocking chair with a cushion wedged into her arch, and he had dug the exact one chair the depths of the garage, making sure it was safe after years of misuse and placing it out on the deck in the backyard, right beside what had always been Nico’s chair.

Luca is probably the best language teacher of them all, not that she’d tell Nico that - he’s the only one with the nerve to correct her, doing so with an amused glint in her eye until she gets it perfect and offering her a proud nod when she can finally speak a full sentence - a useful one at that, instead of random words and nicknames.

Nina allows Poppy to keep an essence of her independence - of the girl she was before she was pregnant, or had come back to Switzerland as Nico’s girlfriend. She makes sure Poppy keeps doing things for herself - accompanies her to the salon, to the local mall, gives her valued opinion on different outfits Poppy tried, and what makes her look like a frumpy mom and not her usual self. The two of them trade books between each other, get ready with each other when the group all go out, and it fills a gap that Poppy never even realised she had until she met her - this desire for a big sister, a want for something she never even knew had been ripped away from her before she was ever even born. 

And Nico.

She has all of this, now, because of him.

He’s given her a life so sweet, and so wonderful, and it’s barely even started yet.

Their little girl is still sat comfortably in her stomach, kicking and moving and causing aches all over, but she’s contributed to a world so beautiful that Poppy doesn’t want to remember life before it. 

And he gave it all to her.

He gave her their baby, his family, summer sun in a foreign country, rocking chairs and card games and trips to the mall. 

Trips to the beach with his siblings, who don’t let him forget his status as the youngest, doting on Poppy while teasing him the whole time, breaking off from the group in search of gelato for her, and none for him, because he has two hands and two feet and a wallet bigger than anyone’s to go and get his own.

And that leaves her with just him, wading in the gloriously warm shallow sea, the sun glistening against soft waves, and his hands around her, large and safe, happy and secure - and so in love she hasn’t stopped smiling in weeks.

So infatuated by the man in front of her, that she’d let him do anything, take her anywhere he wants.

“It’s a shame it’s not just the two of us, today,” Nico hums, a large hand stroking up Poppy’s back, sliding under the straps of her bikini top and tugging, teasingly, “Bet I could have convinced you to take this off.”

“We’re in public, perv,” she scoffs, her own palms flat against his chest, “Also, you can’t accuse your own family of cockblocking you.”

“I can when they won’t leave you alone,” he pouts, “My brother and sister never waited on me hand and foot, if I want gelato I have to go get it myself.” He mimics his sisters voice, face scrunching adorably. 

“My heart bleeds for you,” she groans in feigned pity, “I’m carrying precious cargo, and there’s some serious name stakes up for grabs right now.”

“So you’re pitting them against each other for your own benefit?”

“Exactly, you Hischiers love a little healthy competition,” Poppy smiles, back arching as his hand travels down her spine, the curve of her belly pressing right into his below the water. His skin smooth and hot, making her want to press even harder. “You need to up your game, I’ve got a godparent thing going on with some of the boys, too, you wouldn’t believe how much they’re willing to do for you when they think it puts them ahead in the rankings.”

“We’re not leaving our baby girl in the hands of any of those idiots in the unfortunate event of our deaths, Poppy.” Nico chuckles, lifting her with hands lowered to the backs of her thighs so that he can carry her deeper into the water. 

“I know that, and you know that,” she presses a finger to the tip of his nose before her arms curl around his broad shoulders, “But if it means that Timo always brings me madeleines when he’s around, and Jesper and Nic always buy cute baby clothes for us and send me pictures, then who are we to rain on their parade?”

The smile that stretches across Nico’s lips is fond as he asks, “Who’s the front runner?”

“Well, Timo for now, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he agrees in good humour.

“But I’ve managed to convince Jonas he’s in with a good chance after we went to visit him, he kept bringing cut up fruit out to me while I was around the pool.”

“Baby, I cut up that fruit for you, don’t let him take the credit.”

“Oh, well then he’s disqualified for being a liar.”

“Why’s Timo the obvious choice?” He asks, now at a point in the water that if he let Poppy go, she would only just be able to keep her chin above the water, and she clutches on a little tighter.

“He’s an October baby, like me.” The hands around the back of his neck start playing with the ends of his hair, scratching softly at the skin as she presses herself entirely against him. “If anyone’s gonna raise our daughter, it’s going to be a Libra, we’re fair people.”

“Makes complete sense,” he jokes, “Written in the stars.”

“You get it,” she smiles, ignoring his sarcasm entirely. “But I’m waiting for the penny to drop when they realise all the boys back home are gonna want to be in the running. I have big plans for when we get back to Jersey, they’ve all got a lot of catching up to do, Luke’s in with a pretty good chance, you know.”

“You and that kid, I swear,” 

“He’s very precious to me, Nico.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it.”

“Jack on the other hand has dropped way out of contention. We were talking on the phone the other day while you were training and called me Pop-belly. That’s out of line.”

Nico knows that laughing in any way at that is going to earn him some sort of reaction, but he really can’t help the way his lips quiver of their own volition. 

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Poppy scoffs, swatting lightly at his shoulder, “I’ll be the only one laughing when he turns into my own personal smoothie butler when we go back. He has no chance of getting back in my good graces, but I won’t be telling him that.”

“You’re an evil genius.”

“It’s your devil spawn communicating through the womb,” Poppy hums, leaning in to press a proud kiss firmly to the dimple that forms in his cheek when he smiles at her. “I was a good girl before you corrupted me.”

“You were never a good girl,” he smirks, with his voice low, one hand travelling up the back of her thigh until he can pinch at her ass. 

“Watch it, Hischier,” she warns, feeling steady enough in his hold to take an arm from around his neck and stroke the side of her finger along his slightly stubbled jaw. “You’re on thin ice with me already after shaving again, you don’t want to start being mean.”

“Oh, I’m being mean?” He asks, the hand that had pinched at her flesh now slipping beneath the fabric at the top of the back of her thighs. “You’re the one walking around in this bikini and not letting me touch you.”

“We’re in public, people get arrested for doing the things you want to do to me in places like this.”

“Could be worth it,” he shrugs, “You’re forgetting I’m kind of a national treasure, baby, they’d probably let me go with a warning.”

“Yeah, well, can’t risk it. I kind of need you. Plus, I think you’ve already done enough touching, you’ve literally impregnated me.”

“Way to make it sound romantic.” Nico mumbles, leaning to press a kiss to her bare shoulder, nose nudging once more at the thin straps of her bikini that curve around her slender neck. “Could never touch you enough.”

“You’re touching me right now, aren’t you?”

“Not where I want to.” He repositions where her legs are curled around his hips, just to emphasise his point, pulling her tighter around his torso until he can buck up into her and feel her shudder against him. 

“You can touch me wherever you want later,” she promises, her eyes meeting his, speckles of sunlight glistening off the surface of the water and straight into his irises, warming them in a way that shoots heat all the way down her spine.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You better.” She presses a sweet kiss straight to his lips, one hand holding him close as they part, and she kisses him quick again, before saying, “Thank you for cutting up my fruit.”

He smiles, eyes squinting against the sunlight and crinkling in the corners, deep dimples forming in each cheek.

“Thank you for having my baby.”

She giggles, kissing him again, unable to resist muttering, “Thank you for putting a baby in me,” against his lips before he nips at her mouth, moving along her face in a targeted attack as his hands grip firmer at her hips, tickling her until the sound of laughter fills the air around them.

—

Poppy and Nico had made their way out of the water and onto their towels in the shade by the time Nina and Luca had returned with 3 cones of gelato in hand. Luca had already eaten half of his, coffee-flavoured, and Nina had strawberry, handing a cone with a white scoop over to Poppy.

“Fior di latte,” she had smiled sweetly, “Like milk ice, you said that was your favourite.”

“Thank you,” Poppy had blushed, the smallest gesture of her remembering that sending a buzz down her spine. Nico’s putting beside her, and mutterings of how they could have gotten him one, too, soon forgotten when she started to share.

The two of them had gone for a walk to find a bar on the beach front where they could watch soccer, leaving Poppy and Nico cuddled up on their towel, lost in their own world as they shared the cone between them.

She was resting between Nico’s legs, absentmindedly licking at the dessert when a screaming blur had zoomed past them, kicking sand up in their wake as three young children chased each other down to the water.

Poppy thinks that a year ago, she might have pouted about the sand being thrown onto her legs, but she finds herself smiling softly as she reaches back with the cone, waiting for Nico to have a turn taking a bite.

“Do you ever think about having more?” She can tell without looking back at him that he’s speaking around a mouthful of gelato, and even the thought of it makes her chest warm with the rumbles of laughter. 

“Kids?” Poppy asks, and he hums affirmatively in response, “We don’t even have this one yet, babe,”

“I know,” he mutters, and she can hear the smile in his tone as his thumb swipes at the curve of the top her bump, “But do you ever think about what our family might look like in a few years?”

Our family still makes her heart skip a beat, and she finds herself relaxing even further into his embrace - melting, almost, into his chest, warmed by the rays of sun he has been bathing under.

“We probably need to see how difficult this one ends up being before I think about having any more.” She licks quickly at the drip travelling down her thumb before offering the cone back to Nico, who shakes his head as he lowers it to her shoulder, nose nudging against her skin.

“Should have put two in you while I had the chance,” he mumbles, lips pressed into the side of her neck, trailing soft, but purposeful kisses.

“Not how that works, babe,” Poppy chuckles, lifting her chin to give him more space for his ministrations. “Although they do run in my family, my dad’s a twin.”

“There’s two of him?”

“Yeah, him and my uncle Peter. That’s where the whole name thing started in my family.”

“Name thing?” He juts his chin when she looks back, asking for another taste. 

“We’re all P’s,” she frowns as she focuses on directing the cone back toward his mouth, making sure she doesn’t smush it in his face.

“Oli isn’t a P.” The gelato lines his lips messily as he speaks, and her eyes start to crinkle in the corners as she takes him in. How can he be so stupidly pretty with mint choc chip smearing his upper lip?

“Oli’s a fraud,” Poppy chuckles, swiping a thumb against the soft flesh of his mouth, bringing it to her own to clear it of the cold, sticky substance. “His name’s Philip Jr, but people started calling him Lil Phil and it gave him a complex.”

“Poppy, baby, did you start calling him that?”

“No comment.” 

“You get all grumpy when Jack gives you dumb nicknames, and here you are calling your own flesh and blood Lil Phil.”

“I don’t get grumpy,” she pouts, recoiling her hand from his reach when he tries to lean back in for another taste of gelato. 

“You threatened to block him the other day.”

“That’s ‘cause he called me Pop-belly,” she grumbles, “That’s not funny, it’s mean.”

“Not funny at all,” Nico concurs, lips twisting in the corner as he bites back a smile, eyes gleaming as he watches Poppy sit up and face him, fully. Her eyes narrow, gaze zeroing in on where he’s trying not to laugh, again, at the horrific moniker, and her own lips twist with mirth as she shuffles, resting back on her heels, limbs half on the towel and half on the warm sand. 

“We should stick to your thing, when we’re picking a name for Cheeto,” she hums, meeting his eye as her tongue swipes against the cone, watching his eyelids grow heavier as he focuses on the movement of her lips. “4 letters, no chance of funny nicknames, no chance of people spelling it wrong on birthday cards,” she reaches out for him to get the taste he had been chasing before, and just as his lips press to the frozen substance, she adds, “You all have such pretty names, too. Like Luca.”

Poppy shouldn’t like the darkness that flashes across his eyes when his jealousy flares up, shouldn’t want to push his buttons to make it happen, but she can’t help herself - her favourite pastime all summer has been making Nico think she has a crush on his brother.

It’s so stupid, so childish but so so fun.

It had started off lighthearted enough - her first time meeting Luca, she had been a little knocked back by his presence - ruggedly handsome where she might usually have considered Nico softer, but there were definite similarities. And she wasn’t exactly attracted to him, but she had been flustered - obviously so - and it’s Nico’s own fault for making his notice of that fact so obvious - brows furrowed, his grip on her hand tightening, and a persistent urge to be present whenever Poppy hung around his brother.

She blames the fact that she misses that teasing aspect of their relationship - when their conversations were based off of sarcasm and inescapable charm - for how she continued to press his buttons over the summer. It’s hard to maintain their old snark when her hormones are all out whack, and all she wants is for him to get his clothes off and press her to the nearest surface at any given moment. He constantly has the upper hand, and she’s not exactly used to that being a part of their dynamic.

Teasing him about Luca kills two birds with one stone - she gets her fun, and she elicits that possessive part of him that he somehow locks away every time he gets eyes on her belly, that she can see him restraining in order to handle her with care.

“You’re not funny,” he huffs, swiping the melting gelato from her grip and taking an exasperated lick of the sides, not realising how adorable he looks making little swipes with his tongue when he’s trying to look annoyed.

“I’m dead serious, your brother’s a hunk.”

“Mohn,” he sighs, “I’ll dump this in the sand right now, and I know how much you want to eat this cone.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” she relents as she giggles, reaching to grasp at his arm where he’s holding it away from her, fingertips stroking teasingly to make him give in. “I don’t think your brother is hot.”

“Thank you,” he smiles, offering the gelato back to her.

“Your dad on the other hand.”

“Poppy,” he warns.

“Kidding! I’m kidding,” she laughs, shuffling forward and back between his parted legs, “You’re the only man for me, baby, I swear.”

“I better be,” he pouts, guiding her back into the space he leaves, where she had been cuddled up before, where he misses the press of her body between his thighs. “I booked a table at that Italian place you liked the other week for tonight,” he tells her, voice lowered as one hand falls to her waist, and the other reaches up to push her hair behind her ear and cup at her cheek, “And it’s under my name, so you can’t ditch me for my brother or you get no tiramisu for dessert.”

Her mouth drops at the threat, spare hand reaching up to grip at his shoulder. “I promise I’ll never love another man in my life.”

She says it with a tone so serious that he can’t help but laugh, and her lips tremble too as she watches him, rolling his eyes with affection and looking away so that he doesn’t entirely give him.

She doesn’t really think it’s much of a joke, though.

There isn’t a single person on the planet who could make her feel like this - so happy, so warm, so content. 

She might never love anyone like she loves Nico.

Except for maybe their daughter. And whatever other family he wants to give her in a few years. 

Poppy can’t quite figure out why the thought of going out for dinner alone with Nico is making her nervous.

They’re in a relationship, have been for around 3 months now, and she’s literally carrying his child, but as he stands behind her in the apartment, hands sliding torturously slow up her spine as he zips up her dress and making eye contact with her in the mirror’s reflection, she starts to feel her heart race. 

She’s trying not to be quieter than usual as they walk hand in hand in the warm summer evening air, Nico guiding her down the streets that are comfortingly familiar to him, and that are starting to feel more like home every day to her, too. 

It doesn’t help that he looks so good too, hair grown out and pushed back out of his face, a clean shave - as much as she had grumbled about that, she can’t deny how gorgeous he looks - a loose black shirt and baggy linen trousers, fancy watch clutched around his wrist.

And he makes her feel good about how she looks, too, despite flashes of insecurity hitting her over the past few weeks. Their afternoon spent between the sheets when they had returned from the beach, Nico not being able to get enough of her, and whispering sweet nothings and sexy mutterings into her skin as they finally took advantage of some much needed privacy.

He had chosen her dress for her, had strapped her slightly heeled sandals onto her feet with kisses pressed to her calves, and she thinks it’s all the attention he’s given her over the past 24 hours that has her feeling what she can only describe as high.

It’s what has her stopping him at the corner before the restaurant, seeing the perfect place to prop her phone up on a nearby wall so that she can capture the moment - the two of them looking so perfect that she wants her daughter to see, wants to print it out and tape it into her memory book to show her just how in love and happy her mommy and daddy are.

“Can we take a photo?” 

“You want me to take one of you?” He asks, stopping as she starts to adjust her camera settings on her phone, adding the timer so she can leave her phone perched at a good angle. 

“No, I want one together. So we can show Cheeto how hot her parents were.”

Nico chuckles as she places her phone on the side and pulls him to a good distance, holding her in his arms and smiling down at her as she holds back onto him - the two of them repeating a couple times with different poses before Poppy has a nice little collection of photos, and they can carry on toward the restaurant.

She swipes through and shows them to him as they walk together, and she sends them straight to him so he can have them for himself. 

“Is that hard launch material for your instagram?” He asks as she zooms in on one of them, Poppy’s arms circled around his waist, the biggest, toothiest grin on her face and her eyes scrunched shut.

“I’m gonna put them in Cheeto’s pregnancy book,” Poppy hums, not answering him directly. “Remind me to keep a card or something from the restaurant, she loves their pasta. We can come back when she’s older.”

Her nerves have increased tenfold at the mere mention of that godforsaken app.

Her instagram had never been a big deal before - private since the day she started her account, she only really ever had friends from school and work on there. She never posted in search of likes or validation, just to share little updates on her life, but she had to delete it at the start of summer once the requests to follow her started flooding in.

The first barrage had been easy to ignore, but once the zeros started adding up, and the requests went over 10,000, she figured that just getting rid of it would do her a world of good.

Anybody that needed to be updated, she could just text anyway. It wasn’t a big deal, which is why she hasn’t told Nico yet.

She doesn’t want to worry him with the fact that her whole feed had ended up on Twitter somehow anyway - that the thought of posting anything new, and it ending up shared by one of her existing followers to an intrusive gossip account freaks her out. She doesn’t have the energy to whittle down who might be leaking her stuff, so deleting the app entirely and counting the rest of her privacy as a loss had felt like the safest option.

And it’s not like she misses it.

It’s also not like she cares that much about people knowing about her and Nico - she’d scream from the rooftops about him if she could - but the lack of control scares her a little.

It’s all so invasive - seeing herself cropped out of group pictures, with threads of discourse about her, her life, her relationship with Nico and the rest of the team. Everything twisted so far out of context she starts to question her own reality. 

She had sought advice from Nina about the whole thing, and the two of them had agreed that between themselves, they could figure things out - documenting their summer just for them, without stressing Nico out about what was happening behind the scenes. And she’s grateful, at least, that she has someone like Nina in her corner - who understands what it feels like, to an extent.

Telling Nico would just make him feel guilty, or, even worse, apologise for something that isn’t his fault, and so all she can really do is avoid it altogether. 

She hardly posted on there anyway.

“We should probably figure out her name, soon, you know,” 

Poppy snaps out of her thoughts to look up at him, twisting his lips nervously as he checks on her.

“We can’t call her Cheeto forever.”

“We can. That’s her name.”

Nico chuckles as he guides are across the street with a hand on her back, the restaurant now in sight - a small, family business, not too fancy, the kind with the most delicious recipes past down generations and made to perfection.

She loves places like this - much prefers it to fancier joints - where they can sit side by side at a small table and bask in the intimacy of it all.

An older gentleman smiles warmly at the two of them when they walk in hand in hand, and guides them to a table in the outdoor section at the back, a lit candle and a single rose in the middle of the set-up, and the starry night sky twinkling above them.

She knows exactly why she’s nervous.

It’s the first date she’s been on in a long time - her first official date with Nico, period, and it takes her back to being a little younger, when she first started going on dates, first started opening up to the idea of sharing herself with anybody else. It’s daunting, even if he is already the love of her life. Even if she’s pregnant with his child, integrated into his family, and returning to Jersey in a matter of weeks to the apartment they now share.

He helps her into her seat, pulling his around from the opposite side of the table so they can sit together how she likes, his hand immediately finding where her legs cross beneath the table and stroking at her bare skin. The waiter hands the two of them menus, and Nico asks if he can bring water with ice for the table before he nods and departs, leaving them alone.

“This is really nice, baby,” she smiles, gratefully, eyes roaming over how soft his features look out in the dimmed light, chocolate irises twinkling as they reflect the flickering flame in the centre of the table. 

“Only the best for my girls,” he says lowly, and the two of them sit and smile dopily at one another and making light conversation until the waiter returns. Nico says something that Poppy hasn’t quite learned yet in his language, only just about making out the word pen before Nico takes one from the man with an appreciative thank you before he leaves again. He reaches across the table for the napkins that sit beneath their cutlery, sliding one in front of her before writing on the one in front of himself behind his other hand, hiding whatever he’s doing until he folds the paper.

“I want you to write down the name that’s on the top of your list. Then we’re gonna close our eyes and shuffle them up and pick one.”

“How do you know I have a list?” She frowns, taking the pen when he offers it over to her.

“Because you make a list for the pros and cons of what takeout we’re ordering, Poppy. Of course you have a list to name our daughter.”

She rolls her eyes, covering her napkin as she pauses with a hovered pen. 

She does have a list. And she has a definitive number one.

It hadn’t even been an option before the summer, but she’s found herself imagining the name more and more over the past few weeks. Embroidered on blankets, written into birthday cards for the boys, etched into a personalised wooden bookcase like the kind she had as a little girl.

Nico is right. She isn’t going to be Cheeto forever.

“You know,” Poppy leans back to hide her paper as she writes her name down, her legs angled toward his as his hand strokes softly again up her calf, his napkin clutched tight in his other hand. “Most people don’t pick out baby names on their first date.”

“This isn’t our first date,” he scoffs, eyes narrowing at her as she folds her own. “We’ve been on dates before.”

“Name one.” Her head tilts as she challenges him, eyes meeting his as she waits for him to come up with something. 

“All those times we grabbed dinner together back in Jersey,”

“Not dates.”

“There were several candles lit, Poppy.” Nico frowns, and Poppy’s lips twist as the crease between his eyebrows deepens as he thinks back on it. “All those times we got food before or after your scans, and movie nights at your place with takeout-,”

“Not dates. You have to specifically ask for those to have been dates, they were more like hang-outs.” She repeats, a hand reaching out to place itself on his knee, thumb rubbing against the linen of his pants, countering before he can bite back, “But that’s okay, I like this being our first. We’re making our own order.”

“What like getting pregnant before we’re in a relationship?”

“Exactly. Structure is boring. I like the idea of waking up and you deciding today’s the day to put me in your will and tomorrow’s the day to learn my middle name.”

“I thought you didn’t have a middle name.”

Poppy smiles, close-lipped and big, like she’s holding in laughter as she reaches up to caress his face. She kind of doesn’t want to burst his bubble - sweet, naive but well-intentioned Nico, who thinks he knows her like the back of his hand - but she wants to prove her point, more. “Giselle. After my Nanna Gigi.” 

“Poppy Giselle Jensen?” He asks, mouth agape as she nods. “You’re telling me I knocked you up before I even knew your full name?”

“Way to make it sound romantic,” she mocks, just as he had, earlier on the beach, tucking his hair behind his ear and shuffling a little in her seat, legs tangling even more with his under the table. “I think it’s cool that we get to learn new things about each other all the time.” 

“What have you learned about me?” His voice drops an octave, thumb stroking at her skin in an attempt to distract, but she isn’t giving in to him.

“I spent a week with your mom and sister while you were training out in Tenerife, babe, I know all your secrets from all the photo albums we went through.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah,” she smirks, “Little blonde baby Nico with his big, pretty brown eyes and his bowl cut. I saw everything.”

“That’s not fair,” he pouts, grasping at her ankle, “You have the upper hand.”

“You saw me with my head in a toilet bowl for like 3 months straight, I think we’re even.”

“Speaking of,” he places his folded napkin down onto the table and slides it beside hers, “Close your eyes, I’ll mix them up.”

Poppy closes her eyes, but pouts a little as she hears him shuffle the napkins around. There was no speaking of - she was talking about puking. That wasn’t necessarily speaking of their daughter. He’s just deflecting attention from his bowl cut, she thinks, but she has extensive plans for revisiting that one. Preferably with backup, when their daughter is old enough to join in.

“Alright, now I’m gonna close my eyes, and you mix them up.”

She peeks her eyes open to see his scrunched closed, and smiles to herself as she mixes the two identically folded napkins on the table, nudging him with her knee to let him know when she’s finished.

Her heart starts to pound all of a sudden when his eyes flutter open, those perfect brown eyes darting straight to hers, and she holds her breath in anticipation.

“You pick.” He tells her, sliding the two napkins toward her.

She does so without looking, unfolding it in her lap and holding it against her palm so that he can’t see.

Her lips twist as she eyes the familiar name, a sense of victory swirling in her gut until the reality of it crashes down on her, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

That isn’t her handwriting.

“It means ray of sunlight in Persian,” Nico tells her, peeking down at the name written in the palm of her hands, already knowing from her reaction which napkin she had chosen. “Or beautiful girl.”

“Like you know anything in Persian,” she scoffs, “It’s just your brother and sister’s names combined.”

Nico frowns, “What?” He whines in denial, a poor attempt at lying that automatically makes Poppy’s lips turn at the corners, “How would you even think of that? I’ll let you know, I did extensive research, okay, I-,”

Poppy opens the other napkin up where it sits on the surface of the table, the exact same name scrawled in the centre in her handwriting.

Lina.

Nico smiles, slow but big, cheeks dimpling and eyes crinkling, and Poppy feels those nerves in her stomach swirl into something else, entirely. Her hands start to shake and her eyes start to water as soon as his gaze meets hers, pride shining through every pore of his features.

“That’s fate, Mohn,” he breathes, leaning closer, his chair shuffling against the floor as he reaches out to caress her face softly, palms pressed at either side of her jaw. “We wrote the same name.”

“I know,” she whispers, feeling a tear slip out that he catches immediately with the pad of his thumb. 

“You wanna name her after my brother and sister?”

“I do.” She nods. Of course she does.

Not only has she seen how much they mean to Nico over the last couple of months, but they’ve started to mean as much to her, too - providing her with a sibling bond she’s never really experienced with Oli, one of unconditional love and support, admiration and affection.

She wants her daughter to embody that too.

To be a beacon of love.

A ray of sunlight.

“Lina Cheeto Hischier.”

Nico’s dimpled smile turns into laughter that erupts from the depths of his belly, and fills Poppy with elation, her body turning to jelly as he pulls her in until their lips press together, giggling against each others mouths until Nico feels the need to part, his head leaning down toward Poppy’s bump, where their daughter lays once again, butt to the front, ready to cause her mother a night of grief. 

“Don’t worry Lina-bug,” he whispers, eyes drifting up to meet Poppy’s, her heart soaring at the sweet, definitely pre-meditated nickname. “We’ll work on the middle name.”

“Maybe something Persian,” Poppy scoffs, her own neck craning to speak toward her stomach, her hand falling to stroke it at the side, “Considering your daddy’s such an expert, all of a sudden.”

“I thought you might need convincing,” he chuckles, “I promise I looked it up.”

He leans in to kiss her again.

“I love you,” she whispers against his lips, “So much.”

“I love you more.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk @dasiysthings (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw)

[leashybebes]

#33 for the kiss meme cause I support procrastination 👏 (dealers choice on pairing)

thank you! #33 was forceful, and i went for saltommy. hope that's okay! disclaimer: it's been a minute since i've watched any of the begins episodes so let's just pretend this makes sense with the timeline we saw on the show (if it's good enough for tim etc., etc.)

Tommy gets through the rest of his shift with a ringing in his ears and a feeling like he's clinging on by his fingertips. He can feel Hen and Chimney looking at him carefully between calls, and even Nash looks like he's going to say something a couple of times. Tommy bites his tongue and does his job and at the end of the shift, he does a round of the firehouse and picks up all the stuff Sal left behind in his urgent need to walk away.

Hen finds him in the locker room, half zoned out, looking down at Sal's Yankees sweatshirt in his hands. He found it in the gym. It's the one with the sleeves cut off, the one Sal would pair with obnoxious board shorts at pick-up games, the one it'd taken Tommy years to build up an immunity to. And for what? For what? Because Tommy knows how this goes. People leave, everyone makes the appropriate noises about staying in touch, and then…and then…

"You okay, Tommy?"

"Yeah," he says, on reflex. "No. I don't know."

"Yeah," Hen agrees. "That was rough."

"He's such an idiot," Tommy says, tightening his fists in the worn material of the hoodie. 

Hen touches his shoulder. "Maybe you should cool off a little before you go in all guns blazing, huh?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, his jaw so tight he feels like it might shatter. "Probably."

The drive to Sal's place doesn't cool him off at all. If anything it makes him worse. He spends most of the forty five minutes sitting in traffic with his hands at ten and two, mentally rehearsing what he's going to say. You selfish prick. What the hell were you thinking? It's not too late, let's go to Nash together. You're the only thing that got me through the last six years, what am I supposed to do now? I love you. I don't know how to survive losing you. You fucking asshole.

And then he's there, his car's engine ticking into silence, his hands cramping as he uncurls his fingers from the steering wheel one at a time. He still has no idea what to say, but he grabs the duffel bag of Sal's things from the passenger seat and marches to the door. He listens to the sound of his pulse slamming inside his chest for the thirty seconds it takes Sal to open the door. He has the nerve, the sheer fucking gall, to smile at Tommy.

"Oh, hey man. Come on in."

What the fuck.

Tommy doesn't give Sal time to step aside, shoulders past him instead, shoves the bag of his crap into his arms hard enough to make him stumble.

"What the hell, Sal?"

"What - wait, are you mad at me?"

"Yes!" Tommy explodes, flinging his hands into the air. "Obviously!"

"Well why the fuck are you mad at me?" Sal demands, dropping the bag at his feet and folding his arms across his chest. "Be mad at the fucking hick."

"You left," Tommy bursts out.

"He fucking - "

"All you had to do was say sorry - "

"For doing my job? Tommy!"

"- and you could have stayed with me."

That shuts them both up more effectively than Tommy would have expected and he stands for a moment, his chest heaving, his hands shaking at his sides. Sal looks at him, tilts his head, frowns in the way that has always meant he's forensically taking someone apart, seeing through any defences to their soft underbelly. Tommy has always dreaded having that look turned on him, and this is no different.

And then Sal takes two steps, gets a hand on his collar, yanks him in, kisses him so hard it hurts. In truth it's hurt a little bit every time Tommy's kissed a guy, pressing on the bruise made of shame and fear and guilt that lives in the heart of him. This is different. This hurts because Sal clashes their teeth together, because he bites at Tommy's lower lip with sharp, mean teeth, because his hand goes from Tommy's collar to his hair and tugs. It doesn't hurt in his heart.

Tommy wheels away as far as Sal's grip on his shirt will let him, panting, panic welling up like he was the one who started it, like he slipped after years of promising himself he wouldn't. His hand is shaking as he touches it to his lips. His mouth feels like it's on fire.

"How - how did you know - "

"You're not as subtle as you think you are, babe."

"You fucking asshole," Tommy laughs.

"That's nice," Sal says. "That's real nice. Come here, you dumbass. I'm not leaving you."

He kisses Tommy again, and this time it doesn't hurt anywhere.

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎCookie Cutters౨ৎ꣑ৎ

౨ৎ꣑ৎ12 Days of Christmas Masterlist౨ৎ꣑ৎ [fem reader] contains: trauma, fluff pairing: fem reader x finnick odair (modern) summary: learning gingerbread houses are harder than they look with finnick author’s note: first finnick 12days fic rahhh Spotify Playlist

"You okay?"

It was about the hundredth time Finnick had asked in the last few hours. Without opening your eyes, you could picture the look on his face. Brows knit together, oceanic eyes stormy, mouth pulled into a straight line instead of the easy smile you loved so much. Though his attention was constant, you were grateful for it. It was more than a lot of mentors did for their tributes.

The stint you were forced to do at the Capitol after winning your Games was on hold for the holidays. You were dismissed, put on a train back to District Four, and as Finnick had said, hopefully they would largely forget about you upon the new year.

Opening your eyes, you watched the scenery whiz by, feeling numb to it all. When Finnick squeezed your hand, you turned your head, giving him a tired smile. Sleep had not been your friend in these past months, nightmares plaguing your unconscious mind. The doctor had diagnosed exhaustion, which had seemed ironic. An endless cycle of woe. The only thing that could cure you was the source of your destruction.

Finnick let go of your hand, holding out his arm. You didn't say anything, letting yourself lean into him like you always did. He was the only one who made sure you had any hope of routine. Making sure there was at least some normalcy amidst the turmoil the Capitol put you through. Though you were the victor, nobody worth their salt cared what happened to you. Only that you were at their beck and call for entertainment.

The only person you'd been able to turn to had been your mentor, close in age with eyes that held a pain well beyond his years. He was only fourteen when he was drafted into the Capitol's game of torture, a year older than you, and the years following hadn't been much better. Finnick was very tight-lipped about what exactly the Capitol made him do, insisting that you didn't need to know about it.

You hated that he felt like he had to shield you, but there wasn't much you could do in the way of it. Trust was hard to come by, but with Finnick, it brimmed and overflowed. Now as you snuggled into him under his arm, you could feel it tying around you both, knotting you together forever.

"It'll be you 'n me," he murmured, tucking your head under his chin. "And Mags. In the Victor's Village. It's a nice place, actually. Don't think they've built a house for you yet, but you can stay with me until they do. Or with Mags if that's better?" He looked down at you, and you shook your head, burrowing into him. A little half smile quirked his lips. "Alright, with me it is."

He adjusted your fur-trimmed jacket, rubbing your arm. "Just in time for Christmas. The Capitol gets snow, but it'll be nice to be home."

"Home," you echoed, thinking of the beach, the ocean you'd missed so badly. Who needed snow when you had the water? Looking out the window, you watched for the signs of home. You'd done the same thing when you'd been hauled onto this train by a Peacekeeper months ago, only then you'd been clinging, memorizing. Then, you hadn't thought you'd ever see it again.

Finnick followed your gaze, and the half-smile made an appearance. "It's amazing how you don't realize how bad you missed something until you're back."

You nodded, that feeling of understanding washing over you again. It was something you always felt with him. He always knew what to say.

The sights of your home town charmed you for only a moment before you saw the crowd of people waiting at the train station. Panic seized your heart, and a terrified little noise escaped you. There wasn't supposed to be anyone there. You weren't prepared to greet anybody, or smile and pretend you were happy and grateful the way the Capitol mandated you to be.

Finnick sat up straight. "It's okay. We'll go out a different way." Securing his arm around you, he helped you stand up, guiding you out of your compartment and to the side door. Technically you both had your own areas decked in luxury, but you'd wanted him to stay and he hadn't objected, settling into your space and offering whatever comfort he could.

"I don't wanna see anyone right now," you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes.

His chin dipped as he adjusted your jacket again, peering out the window at the unwanted crowd. "You don't have to. C'mon, there's a door that exits the other way. Nobody will see us." Ushering you down the hallway, Finnick didn't once let go of your waist, his touch keeping you grounded.

A Peacekeeper escorted you both through the shadowy station, the familiar mosaic of ocean waves on the floor nearly bringing tears to your eyes. Your father used to bring you here so you could see the art, one of the only public buildings that had any. You would sit here for hours studying each painting, each tile in the ground. After he died you would come sit alone on one of the benches, watching the few people who came and went the way he used to.

Hardly anybody left so it was never busy to begin with, but today it had been cleared out for yours and Finnick's arrival back home. Your footsteps echoed in the empty space, shadows dancing across the sunshine beaming in from the large windows high upon the walls. It was the only source of light in the room. If it weren't for Finnick's hand, you would have felt like a ghost.

Upon arriving at the car, Finnick pushed you gently in front of him so you could get in first, holding the edge of the car door and looking around before he slid in beside you. The protective gesture eased the weight in your chest. He was looking out for you. It was something you weren't used to, but it incited a warmth that stretched over you, whispering that everything would be okay.

That wasn't something you'd had for a long time.

"We're good," Finnick remarked, settling in next to you. He was looking over you as if checking for injuries, making sure for himself that you were okay. His lips began to form a question you could hear before he said it, but instead of annoyance over predictability, a serene calm washed over you, as he said it in a way of familiar comfort.

"You okay?"

It didn't take too long for you to settle into Finnick's home.

He set up a spare bedroom for you, helping you unpack your things and assuring you he was here if you needed anything. The window had a lovely view of the sea, of the crashing waves against a grey sky. You'd always adored winter in District Four, enjoyed the cozy nights in while the ocean beat at the sand. But now it seemed different, melancholy.

For the first few days, it seemed all you could do was sleep. You felt guilty for leaving Finnick alone when he'd been so kind to open his doors for you, but the one time you'd tried to apologize, he'd waved you off, tucking another blanket around you and saying you needed your sleep. "Doctor's orders," he'd teased, brushing hair out of your eyes and smoothing his thumb over your forehead, smiling as he watched your eyes close.

On the first Thursday after you arrived, you awoke to noise coming from the kitchen, something like pans rattling around. Rising and throwing on a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of comfortable pants, you trailed in the direction of the sound, happening upon Finnick surrounded by an array of dry ingredients, drinking a mug of what smelled like peppermint cocoa. You tilted your head, leaning against the doorway. "Finnick?"

He turned to you, a smile gracing his face. "You're just in time. We're baking today."

"Baking?" You hadn't baked or cooked anything since the day before the Reaping, That morning you remembered feasting on thick, knotted bread you'd made specially for the occasion, making sure to eat in small portions so it would last the week. You hoped one of your neighbors had taken what was left after you were put on the train.

Finnick grinned, nodding enthusiastically. "Yeah. We're making a gingerbread house."

"Oh!" You could recall seeing the sweet, frosted structures in the bakery windows around the holidays in years past, but you'd never actually made one. He was beginning to measure ingredients, uncapping cans, measuring cups clattering. You couldn't help your smile. Seeing him in the kitchen was strangely endearing. "Do you always do this?"

"Make a mess of the kitchen? No," he cracked, and you giggled a little, the weight on your shoulders lightening. Running a hand over his hair, he stared at the mess in front of him. "My mother used to make a gingerbread house every Christmas and I'd help her decorate it. I thought it'd be fun if we did it too."

Your heart nearly melted. He looked so adorable standing there behind the counter, and you thought you caught a trace of flour on his cheek. For the first time in weeks, you felt as though everything that had happened outside these walls was a mere memory.

Making your way over to him, you reached up, swiping the flour from his face with your thumb and smiling sweetly. "I'd love to."

He smiled, leaning in and kissing your forehead. "Alright. Why don't you make the icing and I'll try and figure out the house and walls part?"

You plucked the icing recipe from the yellow-paged book in front of him, watching his brow furrow as he added the sugar to his bowl. Holding back a giggle, you got to work on your portion, stirring and losing yourself in the task. You'd forgotten how relaxing baking could be. And it was infinitely better when you felt so safe standing next to him. Once you'd finished, you turned around to check on his progress.

Finnick had rolled out the slabs and cut them evenly, picking at the edges on the cookie sheet. Once he'd stuck them in the oven, he turned to you, setting his hands on your hips and lifting you up to sit on the only free space on the counter. Standing between your legs, he rubbed circles into your thighs, seeming content. "Let's hope I don't burn anything."

"I trust you," you murmured, leaning forward and wrapping your arms around his middle. He hooked his chin on your shoulder, rocking back and forth. It was a move he used whenever you woke from nightmares, or when he found you crying. Right now you were safe, but it still felt nice. That he didn't only care for you when you were in distress.

"This is nice," you murmured into him. Finnick nodded, drawing circles in your back.

"It is," he breathed, nosing against your neck. You closed your eyes, breathing him in. He had a distinct smell to him, one that you would bottle if you could; to keep whenever you were without him. A moment of silence passed, and then he whispered, "I like having this with you."

Something warm, like a hearth in a storm started up in your heart, and you snuggled closer to him, your legs finding their way around his waist. This felt closer than you'd been to him before, but neither of you were pulling away.

Shifting in your seat, your fingers found the nape of his neck, playing with his hair there. Your mind wandered to the circumstance of it all. The youngest victor in the history of the Games, the Capitol's darling, handsome, charming, gifted. And he was standing with you in his kitchen, arms wrapped around you as gingerbread baked in the oven.

"Y'know, I wouldn't mind if it took awhile for them to build your house," Finnick said softly, leaning up to press his lips to your temple. "I like having you here."

"I like being here with you." Lifting your head, you found he was already looking at you. Looking into his sea blue eyes, you found peace, your storm's center.

The oven's timer rang, and you turned your head. Finnick let go of you to retrieve the gingerbread, setting it to the side to cool and then returning to you, lifting you off the counter and securing his arm around your waist. "You ready to make a gingerbread house?"

"Yes!" leaning into his side, you looked over the space. "So...how do we do it?"

Finnick chuckled, lifting your hands and squeezing them. "Let me show you. It's harder than it sounds."

The next little bit found you trying to hold the walls steady while Finnick glued them to the base with frosting. He smiled when you dropped a wall, setting the icing down and picking it up, his big hands over yours as you held the walls firm. "There you go...you got it, sweetheart. Now I'll just..." He slathered a large portion of icing onto all four sides of the base and covered your hands again to help you slide two of the walls toward it. "There, you're a natural!"

Giggling, you moved to do the same with the other walls, easily attaching them. Finnick smiled proudly. "Great job!"

"I've got a really good teacher," you countered, reaching for the roof, previously constructed. "Can you put some more on the walls?"

He frosted the edges, and you set the triangular roof on top, smiling triumphantly. It was the happiest you'd felt about something in a while and you clasped your hands to your chest. "We did it Finnick! We made it!"

"'Course we did!" He was adding a few finishing touches to keep the house in place. You stared at the walls, the scent of gingerbread thick in the air. Now you were thinking of your sister, of the way you used to bake together. Your memories were less clear now, only the feelings you'd had remaining.

The bad feelings began to creep back in, grasping at your fingers and sucking at your soul again. You nearly let them pull you down until Finnick said something and you were pulled back to earth. "Hm?"

Looking up at you with his crinkly-eyed smile, he said, "You wanna decorate it? I'll give you the frosting now."

"Are you sure?" You looked warily at it, then the house, then him again.

Smiling reassuringly, he nodded. "I've seen your paintings. You'll make it look pretty."

"Frosting and paint are two very different things." Still, you took the bowl from him, as well as the spatula, twisting the wooden handle between your fingers.

As you began to focus, you found yourself drawn to the light once more. When your sister had passed away, it felt as though every happy memory with her had been painted blue, a tinge of sadness and regret sprinkled over each one. But now, with Finnick silently watching as you carefully slathered icing onto the roof, you felt as though happiness had been layered on top. All the pain that accompanied was still there, but it was framed in a new way.

Now all you could think of was doing this with him year after year, spending dozens of Christmases baking cookies and mixing frosting and cuddling in the kitchen until the oven went off.

You wanted it now. More than anything.

Swiping some leftover frosting onto your finger, you licked it clean, sighing at the taste. "All done."

Finnick wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin on your shoulder as he surveyed your work. "It looks amazing." He kissed your cheek. "See? Told ya you'd do a good job."

Leaning back into him, you let your head lull to his shoulder. "It looks pretty."

"It does," he agreed, lips pressed to your hair. You took in the scene before you, almost in disbelief. The domesticity of it would have been unthinkable to you a month ago. Christmas traditions with the man you-

Your heart fluttered, and you turned around, burying your face in his chest. "Finnick."

His hand found the back of your head, and he stroked your hair. "Sweetheart, are you-?"

"I love you," you breathed, hands on his chest. The instant you said it, your chest tightened, nerves replacing the space those words had been taking up for so long. Looking up at him, you saw his lips part, feel his arms tighten around you. His eyes were warm, and a wave of relief crashed over you as the corners of his lips lifted.

"Baby..." he breathed, cupping your cheek. You could smell the peppermint on his breath, feel his heart beating as he pressed on your waist, so you were right against him. And then in an instant, his mouth was over yours, and your fingers gripped his sweater, everything you'd felt from the last months crashing over you and poured into this kiss. You loved him. You'd loved you from the moment he'd sat you down and told you he was going to keep you safe that first day on the train.

Through everything he'd protected you. Without him, you wouldn't be standing here. You'd be just another unfortunate teenager lost to the games.

As he intertwined you both, holding you close and whispering that he loved you in between kisses, you could feel it blooming in your chest. Nothing after the so called honor of winning had even come close to this.

Here was where you became the true Victors.

[eisforeidolon]

Question: I have two questions, one for Jensen, and one for both of you.

Jared: Okay. So no Jared question? That's fine.

Jensen: Nope.

Question: First for Jensen, I need to know the story behind this picture, please? [both walk over to look, Jensen mutters something like 'Oh, God']

Jensen: I honestly don't know the story behind that picture. I don't know A) what I'm doing, I'm like sitting in a cast chair and I'm just like pulling my shirt up [mimes the pose]. And I don't -

Jared: If you got it, flaunt it.

Jensen: I don't. Uh, I don't know, I don't know what I would have - I don't even know who took that photo. Or how it got out, but - or why. This is - um.

Jared: I think, I think, here's why -

Jensen: I might have been getting mic'd?

Jared: Yeah, probably.

Jensen: Cause they, when they wire us, when they put the microphones on us, they tape it [tapping center of his chest] to your chest - I mean, there's a few ways they can do it, sometimes they'll wire the jacket, sometimes they'll put it, if you're wearing a tie, they'll put it in the knot of the tie. If you've got a sharp eye, sometimes you can see 'em. But most of the time they'll just tape it to your chest and then the wire kind of goes [gestures down his chest and around to his back] around [points downward] sometimes it goes to an ankle pack, sometimes it clips onto the back of your belt. Anyway. I was probably just going like, [gestures as if pulling up his shirt] okay, wire me. And the person who wires has to put up with that kind of - the shenanigans that we do when we're like [does the fake laugh thing, and shakes back and forth].

Jared: Also, in fairness, I think that was like season one or two? And so twenty years ago, we didn't realize, we were slow, we were not the generation where everything you do lasts forever? And so it's like [fake laugh, pops hip, makes fart noise] Ahh, I'm farting, and it exists twenty fucking years later, so. Naivety on both of our parts, I think.

Jensen: So I don't know if that answers your question, but that's the best I can come up with, so. What was the other question that he might help with anyway?

Question: Both of you, do you feel any pressure from the fans to show that you're still close friends? When you search on Google 'Jensen and Jared' there is the first question that pops there is 'Are they still friends?'. And whatever happens between you two, people just watching, waiting, like are you still close or not -

Jared: So I think, so -

Question: You have this pressure to show that you're still close -

Jensen: It's exhausting.

Jared: [grabs his shoulder] Wow.

Jensen: I'm so glad you brought this up. [turns to Jared] I am, I am exhausted pretending to be your friend -

Jared: That's actually my, that's actually my question that I put into the Google search. I'm like -

Jensen: [cracks up] I haven't heard from him in weeks!

Jared: I haven't heard from Jensen in two days [mimics typing] are they still friends? Does he still like me, circle yes or no? [Jensen cracks up more] I don't feel - I'll speak for myself - I don't feel any pressure to [finger quotes] prove that I'm friends with Jensen or my br- or anybody, you know what I mean? Like, life - we have lives, and we live in different states and, like, if I see him every day for a month, great! If I don't see him for seven months, great! Like if he's good or needs something, or I need something - but yeah, I do find that question funny. And I think it's also, I think it's like, from, was it French Mistake, or? It was like, episode, yeah I did see something online where they're like, 'oh, they're talking'. It's French Mistake.

Jensen: Oh! Yeah yeah yeah.

Jared: And then it became a thing, where they were like -

Jensen: Oh, is that real? Do [they?] not like each other? Yeah.

Jared: We also fucking - I have an alpaca! [Jensen cracks up again] Like, no one hinged on that, like does Jared really have a picture of himself in Warhol style and his wife and a tanning bed and an alpaca at his house? Like no, I don't.

Jensen: You're not far off, though. [laughs]

Jared: Close, close. Got one out of four.

Jensen: Yeah, no. I think there's also - [points at Jared] you kind of touched on it a little bit. You know, I think anybody who can just see us together whether we're onstage or whether we're back stage? Can tell that there's a, you know, legit love for each other. And always will be. Whether - like he said - whether we see each other every day for six weeks or whether we go six weeks without seeing each other. Or without even, like, checking in. Which, we usually text back and forth and stuff, just, you know, about hey, what d'you think - what're you doing with this, or hey I need to ask you a question -

Jared: We have a Wordle text thread.

Jensen: [they talk over each other here, so this next is approximate] Yeah, we Wordle each other every day. Um, so, that would be pretty, again, pretty exhausting to keep that [finger quotes] facade up, if it was a facade and it's not.

[rooksunday]

fluffcember day twenty eight: cold turkey

"I can stop at any time. I can. Don't look at me like that. I'm not addicted," Fox said with a sniff. "I have the will of a-a— The will of something notorious for having immense power of will."

Thire made a hissing noise through his teeth. "Started strong but lost marks on the descent, sir."

"Otherwise a solid seven out of ten," Stone concurred.

Fox flung his stylus across the office, making Thire curse and duck beneath his desk to avoid the projectile. For lack of anything suitable to throw at Stone, Fox gestured an invitation to do something uncomfortable with a speeder, to which Stone simply waggled his accursed eyebrows.

Standing in the middle of the room, Thorn cleared his throat. His face, when Fox dared to look, was as durasteel.

"You're not convinced, are you," Fox asked, knowing the answer.

"I find it difficult to respond to that question either truthfully or respectfully, sir," Thorn replied.

"Oooooooh," Thire breathed, sotto voice, like the tube sludge he was.

Stone just laughed his massif-bark laugh.

Fox resisted the urge to crowd his shoulders around his ears. He was in charge of this pack of fools and Thorn, wasn't he? He was! The duty was stamped right there on his barcode. He took a breath and made deliberate visor contact with Thorn.

"Then let me reiterate. I am not addicted."

"You can stop anytime?" Thorn asked.

"Anytime," Fox confirmed.

Thorn's visor couldn't possibly glint sinisterly, and yet somehow the light in their cramped office appeared to make it so. Fox took a steady, regretful, breath, knowing what was coming next.

Thorn tilted his head. "Prove it."

There it was.

Thire and Stone stopped even pretending to do work. Fox straightened his shoulders and jerked his chin right back at Thorn. He hoped his visor was glinting, too.

"Try me."

Slowly, with a malevolent aura even a Force-null like Fox could sense, Thorn raised his comm and pressed it.

"Send him in," he said, because he was an absolute bastard. "We're ready."

Fox gripped the edge of his desk as the office door opened and a familiar figure filled the frame. He clenched every muscle he had as the figure crossed the room like a missile honing on its target, barely acknowledging the other commanders, unerringly seeking Fox. The prey-feeling thrilled through Fox but he hardened his resolve. He could resist. He wasn't addicted. He could—

Fox lunged out of his chair, already throwing his bucket aside, and leapt across the desk into Quinlan's waiting arms and hungry hello kiss. Either the Force or Quinlan's natural strength held Fox steady as he climbed his Jedi like a tree, wrapping his legs around Quinlan's waist, and his arms around deliciously broad shoulders. Quinlan groaned softly into Fox's mouth and clung on. The two of them had hello down to an art.

Outside the realm of important things, Fox overhead a sigh and what might've been the exchange of credits.

"I told you," one of the pricks said. "He's addicted to public displays of affection."

"It's so kriffin' embarrassing. No one else has an exhibitionist for a superior officer."

More fools them.

Just wait until they saw Bly. They'd appreciate Fox's discretion then.

[insidekatmind]

Between the Shadows of a Secret~Pope Heyward

Wearning: +18, smut, cheating, english is not my first language.

You're spending the afternoon at Pope's house. His room is full of posters, vinyl records, and that soft light that he prefers so much. You laughed, joked, and now you are on the sofa, next to each other, your leg touching his. You feel good, strangely at ease. Then you feel your phone vibrate.

Once, twice, three times.

You take it out, see "Topper" on the screen, and immediately put it on silent. Pope glances at you, a half smile on his face.

"Problems?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. He looks at you like he knows something you don't want to admit. And that provocative nuance of hers sends a shiver down your spine.

You shake your head, trying to pretend nothing happened. “Nothing important.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't insist. Yet, for a moment, he remains silent, looking at you with that deep and knowing look that only Pope can do. “Are you sure you don't want to answer?”

You ignore his tone and change the subject, but you feel your phone vibrate again. A message this time. Toppers.

> "Hey, where are you?" "I tried to call you" "Everything ok?"

Your heart beats a little faster. You know you should answer him, but you don't want to. You look up at Pope and he is still watching you, as if he can read every thought in your mind.

Pope leans a little closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Are you afraid?” His voice is low, almost a whisper.

You look at him with a half smile. “What should I be afraid of?”

He looks down at your lips, then back into your eyes, a moment of hesitation. “To feel what you feel in this moment.”

There is a charged silence, full of meanings, of things left unsaid. But then you move away a few centimeters, as if to regain control. “You're talking nonsense,” you tell him, trying to keep your tone neutral.

"Really?" Pope replies, with that smile that smacks of challenge. “Then why are you here, with me?”

You have a feeling of panic. The phone's vibration returns, insistent, almost like a guilt. It's Topper again, as if he's realized something is wrong.

And Pope reaches out a hand, touching yours. "You don't have to answer," he murmurs. "Not to him."

For a moment you stand still, torn between what you should do and what you want to do. And in that instant, you understand that something has changed.

For a moment everything is suspended. Your cell phone still vibrates, but it's just a distant noise, a background that no longer affects you. You are here, with Pope, with his dark eyes and that nuanced light that makes everything a little unreal, almost magical. You don't know if it's the time, if it's the right thing, but it's like something inside you can't wait any longer.

You lean forward, moving closer to him, your heart pounding like it's on the verge of exploding. You feel his breath, warm, touching your face, and he looks at you as if he can't believe what's about to happen.

And then you kiss him.

At first it's a light, uncertain touch, as if neither of them is sure of what they're doing. But Pope kisses you back immediately, happy, as if he was just waiting for that. His lips move on yours, sweet but intense, and he gets even closer, a hand sliding up your back, as if trying to bring you closer, not to let you go.

When you break away, his eyes are lit, bright. He looks at you like he's surprised, but at the same time like he always knew this moment would come.

“I didn't think you'd have the courage,” he murmurs, with that provocative half-smile.

You look at him, smiling without realizing it. “I'm not who you think.”

“I understood this.” His fingers slide between yours, slowly intertwining, as if that gesture was enough to say everything that neither of you dares to say out loud yet. Then he tilts his head, bringing your face close. “But do you know what it is?”

His eyes fixed on yours, and his tone is calm, warm, but firm. “That's fine with me.”

And here you ended up lying on the couch while Pope was fucking you so hard.

“Pope please more” you said desperately feeling how his big hard cock was penetrating you. He groans biting your shoulder increasing his thrusts.

“Whatever you want honey” he said as you moaned loudly.

The phone kept ringing, and it was Topper, but you didn't care, especially not right now, because Pope was fucking touching points you didn't know you knew. You were on another planet where all you could think about was Pope and how good his cock made you feel.

Pope on the other side pushed harder into your pussy and loved how tight it was around his cock. He looked away from you for a moment and saw your phone ringing again and huffed knowing it was Topper.

He looked at you again and kissed you increasing his thrusts making both of you moan and you come on his cock as he continues to penetrate you.

“So big” you moaned as you felt how his cock was destroying your pussy and he moaned.

“This pussy feels so good…made just for me” he said moaning then squeezing your tits and slapping them then making you whimper.

“I should answer your phone and make Topper listen to how good a slut you are for me” he said jealously as he pushed his cock harder into your pussy.

At that thought you tightened your pussy on his cock and he chuckled pushing you inside.

“You're mine y/n...this pussy is mine” he said as you nodded because you couldn't speak due to the moans.

Pope nibbles on your neck marking it and he smiled at your masterpiece as he placed his hand on your neck to squeeze it making you moan as you felt too much pleasure.

“I bet Topper doesn't make you feel as good as I do” he said pushing further into your pussy and you moan.

“I have never fucked with Topper” you told him and he just hearing this felt himself coming and smiled as he kissed you and pushed himself further into you.

“Good girl,” he murmured as he was about to come and you moan, scratching his back.

“Come inside me Pope, please” you begged and he smiled pushing his entire load inside you.

“With pleasure” he told you as you moaned feeling his cum inside you

[restinslices]

Yo, still waiting for that if Tomas was a sub one (canon tbh)

Cannot believe I forgot. Y’all can boo me

Imma just come out and say it. He's such a whiny sub

There are characters that give me dom vibes but I think them as subs would be fun. There are characters that give me switch vibes. Tomas gives me only sub vibes. I don't detect a dom in there. idk, that's just me tho

So needy and whiny it'd probably throw you off when you see him doing anything other than begging you to touch him 

Cannot handle teasing at all. He's ok with teasing you but breaks easily when you tease him 

Honestly he can't backup any of the shit he talks. 

One of those subs who need attention at all times. Even if you're not interacting with him, he still wants you in the area 

Kinks I think he'd have are barebacking, biting, humiliation (a HUGE one and imma stand on it), breath play, collaring (in private), impact play, sex toys and sensory deprivation 

I just feel like he's a slut in disguise. Where's my proof? I made it the fuck up. I'm doing this for US 

If you have female anatomy he's also getting pegged. IDC IDC 

Humiliation is a big one for him because he knows it's still a safe space. You can taunt him about how he's a slut, write things on him, make him get off with something unusual, ect. but at the end of day you still love him and it's all for fun. 

You can tell when he's needy ‘cause he's extremely close to you. He follows you around normally, but he's right on your heels 

To torture him more you can pretend you have no idea what he wants. He knows you know and you know he knows, but watching him try to ignore how he feels ‘cause he doesn't wanna say it out loud is priceless. 

He also has a tendency to say he can't take anymore but in reality he wants you to keep going. This is a big guy, he can take it. 

There's two good punishments for him; Cockwarming and overstimulation 

Cockwarming because he can't handle teasing. It's so simple but he can't stand it and doesn't know which is worse; when you're inside of him (actual dick or strapon, doesn't matter) or when he's inside of you. Either way, it doesn't take long for him to apologize for whatever he's done and beg you to fuck him already. 

For overstimulation he gets turned on and cums pretty easily so it wouldn't take that much to overstimulate him. 

These two go well together. Cockwarming then overstimulation as a “isn't this what you wanted?”

What would make this better is quizzing him on something. His brain stops working when he's horny so quizzing him on Lin Kuei principles or something else he for sure knows adds to it. 

He knows he knows the answer but his brain is a fog. It kinda puts the punishment in his hands but that adds to the torture. If he could figure this out, then you'd actually fuck him (or you'd stop fucking him if you do this while overstimulating him)

As I'm typing this I thought of another thing that can be both a punishment but also something he enjoys. Dryhumping. Listen to me and listen to me well-

I can see him coming up behind you when you're alone and rubbing against you to let you know he's needy. And if you told him to keep going, he'd cum but it's not what he really wants to do. 

So him being in trouble and being forced to rub against you but not be inside you or have you inside him would drive him nuts. 

Aftercare for him would be showering together, cuddling and reassuring him you didn't mean any of the negative things you said. Especially after an intense punishment, he needs to hear you don't actually think negatively of him and you love him. 

Also reading together depending on the day. Just something really chill to pull him back to reality. 

I just realized he has the least amount of words so here are afterthoughts to fix that

I know I've called him whiny multiple times but I genuinely think sometimes he can't even form coherent sentences. All that comes out are noises 

Tries not to pout but does so anyway 

He can get off just from giving head 

Loves you leaving marks on him as long as he can cover it up. He can't be scrapping and the enemy sees a hickey on his neck

Tries to sneakily break rules. For example, if a rule is “no touching yourself when I'm gone” he'll do it anyway and try to get rid of the evidence. He'll shower, change clothes, clean any toy he used and whatever else he has to do but you somehow always know. 

Tomas is not the best liar and has some habits he does when lying, like tapping his fingertips together so you find out that way or from actually catching him and pretending you didn’t

The type to break rules on purpose if you haven't been giving him attention and then be surprised when actions have consequences 

Will call you whatever title you prefer if you don't just wanna go by your name

Like his brothers, he for sure could just throw you off but he never does. It adds to the fun. He's a skilled assassin but if you said “jump” he'd ask “how high?”

The best sub to have if you want one whos so pathetically in love with you but can be a little shit sometimes 

Even after his punishments, he keeps apologizing to make sure you're not actually mad at him. 

Probably begs you to cum inside him anyway you can

I see him and start tweaking fr

[kimmi-iii]

Hey klee!! I just finished RE4R but somehow I can't stop thinking about RE2 Leon!!! Help!! Got any ideas for some fluff (or smut hehe) surrounding college-boyfriend!Leon?? It might be a little niche but it's consuming and rotting my brain I can'ttt I have a couple thoughts but I'm wondering if you have any headcanons or drabbles on how he'd ask you(or reader) out, would you get to see him between classes (maybe he's in the academy, or maybe he's in college w/ you), hmmm maybe what it'd be like if you were sharing a place... idk something wholesome!! (or maybe a lil spicy but I don't really have any ideas about that besides Leon being a switch/sub)

Omg I'm so into Leon being a switch leaning towards sub :3

Here are my takes/headcanons about Leon Kennedy being your silly college bf!!

Afab!reader

SFW:

-We're most likely talking about RE2R Leon so I could totally see him doing something super cheesy like bringing you roses, face masks, and hugs from behind

-He's 5'8" aka 172cm so he's a pretty tall guy. So hes just 10x taller than you but is such a softie.

-This man can cook!!! Not much to really work with in a college dorm (I'd say so at least but I'm not a chef) but Leon would definitely have a few cooking tricks up his sleeves that are simple and easy to do

-The typa guy to stay up with you to cuddle and watch movies. Depending on the day he might not even pay attention ;)

-Might be a slight self insert, but if you're in a performance arts major/in the school's plays, Leon is definitely there to support you and would go to every show you're in.

-he gives off "beauty and brains" kinda guy. He definitely played some sort of sport in high school. Probably baseball or lacrosse. And he definitely has mostly As and Bs. This man is just so damn good in school--and he looks good? Dream come true

NSFW:

-Since he's in college, he's younger. And since he's younger Leon, he's definitely a sub-leaning switch.

-He's most likely not a virgin but he practically has no experience. So you could definitely pretend he is one

-Just imagine him whimpering and whining on the bed in your dorm room. His poor pink tip leaking precum while he waits for you to stop teasing him.

-"F-fuck--please please please! I-I need-i need you so so bad..." He says as you're kissing all over his body except the thing that needed the most attention

-and when you actually do touch it? Oh the pretty boy is so relieved. You're giving the head of his cock kitten licks as you jerk off the rest.

-but when you start giving the sloppiest blowjob or begin riding him? He's on cloud nine. His cock twitching from the warmth wetness if your mouth--or he's whining and gripping onto your hips and thighs from your tight, wet pussy as you ride him.

-This man probably has the best cum shots. After you climax, you pull off of him and immediately begin to jerk him off. That alone has him gripping at the bed sheets and bucking his hips into your hand as cum spills all over his torso.

-Since he's inexperienced, you either fall asleep next to each other after, or you help clean him up for aftercare

-did I mention he makes the more prettiest noises and cutest faces when you dom him? His little mouth hangs open, his face is flushed and hair sticks onto his forehead

(I would do some for when he's top but I'm in a femdom mood)