#should i make a fanfiction out of this

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 61

Was talking back and forth with @bakewrite in the comments of my other prompts and this idea popped into my head and won't leave me alone I think @thedemonofcat did a similar prompt to this, about Geralt buying a book about caring for your companion (dog)? Can someone link that to me if they find it lol Geralt walks into a bookstore, and asks if they have anything on how to care for bards. The bookstore clerk has bad hearing, and mistakenly thinks this witcher is looking for a guidebook on how to care for birds. He has a copy of one, so he hands it over in exchange for a reasonable amount of coins, he thinks. Geralt meanwhile is pretty sure he was ripped off. Some of this stuff doesn't sound right.. But he doesn't know enough about normal humans - let alone BARDS - to truly disprove of anything. Some of it makes sense. It recommends to not clip their wings, unless their reckless flight could end up in them being injured. Geralt understands that one. He agrees, in a way. He would never restrict his Bard's freedom, but sometimes he must deny his bard a sexual conquest or party he wants to attend, in order to keep him safe from something or someone. Not even mentioning all the times a hunt is so dangerous he has to keep Jaskier safe at the inn, much to Jaskier's chagrin. It also recommends to feed them fresh fruits along with their seed. It must mean to give them some healthy vitamin-filled fruit alongside bread and other grain based foods, right? All of these sound well and good, but then there's also a chapter explicitly stating that albeit they love touch and petting, you mustn't touch their backs, or else they'll get aroused. Geralt has touched Jaskier's back along the years, he should've known better than to make Jaskier uncomfortable. But Jaskier never seemed angry? In fact, he seemed to enjoy whenever Geralt touched his b- Oh gods, Jaskier LIKES when he touches his back! But page 202 says you aren't to let them like when you touch their back! It also says not to let them be attracted to you, but Geralt wouldn't actually mind if his bard was attracted to him- He shouldn't keep thinking along this path. Its dangerous. It says they like shiny, colorful, and easy-to-destroy enrichment items, but Geralt's bard must be special, in that Jaskier loves shiny things and colorful things, but would prefer things to stay together. Then again, some of his clothing WAS quite delicate... They're very clean, they enjoy baths, and they love to preen. Yes, yes, he already knows this. Sometimes they bite when stressed? Odd, Jaskier hasn't bitten him when stressed. Perhaps he's one of the more docile bards... Bards more unruly than Jaskier... Now that's a terrifying thought. Jaskier starts mumbling in his sleep, and Geralt sets aside his book, tucking it into his bags. He'll hold onto his bard now, and finish his book tomorrow night.

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Three

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

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

WC: 13k

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

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

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Two)

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

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

Poppy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Teleportation sounds perfect.

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

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

Until Poppy properly considered time travel, that is.

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

But that was before she screwed everything up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except maybe she can.

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

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

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

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

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

-

“Don’t go on that date, Mohn.”

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

What the hell is going on?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to go, Poppy,”

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

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

“More?”

“More than friends.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

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

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

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

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

Wrong answer, again.

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

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

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

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

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

“You said you forgave me for that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She could feel her temper flaring again. 

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

“Poppy-,”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

But her and Nico were just friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

“Finnegan’s.” 

“The bar?”

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

She remembered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t mind.”

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

“You wanted to kiss me then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

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

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

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

“Could you maybe say it?”

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

“You do?”

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

“I forgive you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surely she would have a scar or a bruise.

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

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

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

“In my defence-,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She isn’t entirely wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure." His sarcasm was not entirely appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico

Nico has never been so physically uncomfortable in his life.

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

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

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

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

Itchy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4 days.

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

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

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

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

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

Every single thing had reminded him of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She won’t even kiss him back.

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

No one else can get that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A new record?”

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

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

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

He could use this to his advantage.

“Is she a good kisser?”

Or not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One question. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

Poppy looks unbelievable. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is no date. There is no uncouth slob.

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

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

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

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

Rookie mistake, offering something up so quick.

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

“What do you want?”

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

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

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

“Bring them into our section.”

“And maybe some tickets, too.”

“Fine.”

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

“Aren’t you gonna text her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She isn’t running. She isn’t pushing.

She’s waiting.

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

“I’ve missed you, too.” 

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry about your date.”

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

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

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

“I was stupid to ask that.”

“Maybe we’re both stupid.”

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

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

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

“How are your family?”

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

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

“Did they get to watch you win?”

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

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

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

That would be embarrassing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is getting his own back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a party. 

Poppy’s here.

He can do this.

He can wait.

Next Chapter

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

[justaz]

soft!merthur obsessed with each other and being completely, glaringly obvious about it. walking close enough for their fingers to be constantly brushing, talking with their other hand and refusing to break the touch. standing next to each other in a group, slowly shifting closer and closer until they’re pressed up against each other. despite there being other people, whenever they speak the other just has to respond leading them to turn to one another and have their own back and forth, their heads tilting closer and closer until their noses are just inches apart. merlin pretending to find issues with arthur’s clothes to fix that aren’t actually there just to touch him but arthur’s not gonna comment on that bc it means he gets to feel merlin’s touch. gazing at each other across the room, across the training field, across camp, etc and just watching them exist with the softest gaze and a small, tender smile. when the other feels their gaze they look up at them first and meet their eyes unflinchingly. them staring at each other for a moment before they resume what they should be doing (albeit slightly flustered). arthur finding any excuse to keep merlin in his chambers just a little while longer when he should be retiring for bed

[serious-goose]

there should be a way to filter out all au works on ao3 without having to specify every type of au. if you type in just alternate universe to filter it out it doesn't work

[bernardellinewsagency]

i had ideas for an entire galladay roleswap au that i just. completely forgot about. oh my fucking god. and when i say roleswap i mean *everything* gets swapped.

penacony is a land of elation, the most wonderous entertainment one could ever experience; if you can afford it, that is. it's a land blessed by aha, where you can forget your struggles and even become someone else entirely, if that's what you want. people think the joy associated with it is unceasing, but it's truly only temporary, and aha is fond of violent and chaotic ends for THEIR own amusement, and so gallagher knows people shouldn't rely on THEIR benevolence.

he is who people believe is closest to the elation in penacony. he's not a masked fool, and he hardly acts like how people would expect him to. he's not grandiose or over the top. he's simple, down to earth, but he makes sure everyone's stay is as best it can be, he creates miracles within the dreamscapes, and people view him as someone perhaps specifically chosen to spread joy and happiness to those who visit penacony.

in truth, though, he works for the enigmata, taking on mythus' duty of undoing all that's been set in stone by the likes of the erudition and finality. some people who come to penacony deserve no sympathy, but there are many who come out of desperation, trying to find some hint of a better life, a different life, where they can be happy. it will never last, the elation will always have to fade away eventually, but can't he try to give them a better ending once it does? if he can erase and obfuscate and rewrite enough, can't he change enough circumstances in their lives for the better?

sunday, on the other hand, is now the security officer plotting behind the scenes. halovians are a natural choice for security; the effects of elation can have some negative consequences, and it already has a reputation for inspiring criminals and terrorists across the universe. should someone find themselves straying from the joy they should be feeling and threatening to turn a sweet dream into a nightmare, they can be psychically nudged back into compliance and docility. plus, it's said that this psychic gift also makes halovians themselves immune to elation, or at least better able to ignore its effects, though that's neither confirmed nor denied.

he's still the adoptive son of the "dreammaster", but in a roleswap, gopher wood and mikhail would also be switching roles. the watchmaker would be the more well renowned leader of penacony, with gallagher or micah set to inherit his role if they haven't already. so sunday, still a follower of the order/harmony, is the one who's upset with how penacony is run, how the ideals it was founded upon have been twisted. how someone he looked up to has been forgotten, cast aside, treated like a traitor to penacony.

he may also be a memetic entity or smth. don't worry about it. also yes, this does mean siobhan and robin swap roles. i haven't thought too much about them, but sunday would be the one to "kill" siobhan and robin would unfortunately be relegated to the role of minor character which sucks bc i love her. but i also love siobhan and she deserves to have her time to shine tbh. i think robin and siobhan should be lesbians <3

anyways. dialogue snippet time!!

"people like to say that penacony's head of security is like a dove cause of your appearance, but it turns out you're more of a magpie, isn't that right? a damn thief of a bird, fitting since you're always taking things that aren't yours." "i've never stolen anything from penacony, much less from its leaders. out of the two of us, you're the one who'd know a thing or two about stealing." "me? you'd better watch your tongue, birdie." "you stole my father's legacy, you clipped my wings, you forced me to play this part, now you wish to silence me? how could you not be the one here who knows the most about taking what isn't theirs?" "your father was nothing but a vulture, stealing the scraps from those who actually put in the work and wanting to claim that he helped build penacony from the ground up, and when that didn't work, he didn't hesitate to switch sides. and you're turning out just like him." "impossible. you're impossible, you know that?" "oh, i'm impossible? no, no, i'll tell you what's really impossible. actually being able to spread the order's influence on penacony, that's what's impossible. do you really think that anything could bring penacony and its guests away from the clutches of elation?" "you seem to think so, working ever so diligently as a minion for the enigmata. following in mythus' footsteps as you try to erase the past; your attempts to overturn truth are futile, it's incredible how shortsighted you must be to never once grasp the fact that all your efforts will only ever be in vain." "you seem awfully confident there, little birdie. you think your precious order could do much better? these people, the fools who willingly come here to stake their whole lives on mere entertainment, will never know what order is like- and that's not even touching on the fact your aeon is dead and gone. unless you want to end up just like THEM, i'd suggest you leave now. go, before i have to force you out." "no. no, no, you won't, gallagher. you know why? because the order has just as much a chance of succeeding as the enigmata does. everything that we see here; everything from ourselves to penacony itself, it doesn't actually mean anything at all. because in the grand scheme of things... all that this is is just fate playing a cruel joke on us."

[kald-dal-art]

Reading “That Familiar Sting” is an insane experience, because I’ve known and accepted Maureen’s family and girlfriend have been dead since I read the first chapter, but also, if you kill them in the next chapter I’m gonna throw up. Leave them alone, that poor girl has suffered enough! And then she’s gonna die at the end too? I am unwell.

I’m very sorry for the pain I will inflict in these next chapters, will you accept these drawings of the Lesbians as an apology :’)

Maureen my sweet tragic angel I am so sorry for everything I have put you through in this story.

[mechazushi]

Fortitude Privilege {Staring Yu/Na and Base Inspector} (A short story)

After everything had settled down, they let Kafka do what-the-fuck-ever. That also includes snuggling on his boyfriend at anytime during work hours.

Vice Captain Hoshina was the first to leave the training room when Iharu passed by with a new recruit. He was showing her around the expansive base when he was presented with an opportunity to have a down to earth meet-and-greet with the base's second in command.

"Hey! Vice Cap! Good timing. Yunna, this is our Vice Captain Hoshina. Vice-Cap, this is Yunna. She's a transfer from Division Seven." Iharu took the lead on the introductions while the two of them were exchanging salutes. They all began trading questions with each other, busy distracting themselves with platitudes to not notice another person turning a corner and coming up behind Hoshina. A tall, burly, and clearly tired individual shambled up behind the vice captain and slumped over his shoulder unceremoniously, almost knocking him over.

"Oof, Kafka! Is everything okay?" Hoshina said calmly at the intruder. The man he called Kafka just wrapped his arms lopsidedly around Hoshina's left shoulder as he dug his face into the crook of his neck on the right.

" 'M fine. Drained" He mumbled incoherently, sacrificing vowels in his state of exhaustion. He nuzzled his nose affectionately in the curve of Hoshina's neck and took a noticeable whiff. "New cologne's nice."

Yunna, the new recruit, became visibly flushed as she continued to stare on. Iharu was already completely desensitized to this and just continued his conversation with the Vice Captain. Noticing the state of shock on the newcomer, Iharu took a second to explain what was happening.

"This is Kafka Hibino. He's the Captain's and Vice Captain's boyfriend. Everyone has learned to just let him get away with this bullshit." Iharu smiled cheekily at Yunna after he had finished.

"What am I supposed to do when he's like this? Tell him 'No'?" Hoshina said as he crossed his arms. He felt the rumbling of deep throated laughter coming from the man on his shoulder.

"Conveniently leaving out the fact that I'm also a kaiju." Kafka said as he lifted his head a little just to speak clearly. Yunna made a small squeak of surprise as the revelation made all the pieces click into place.

Down the hallway behind Iharu, everyone could hear another person aggressively shouting as they came down their direction.

"Aw, shit." Hoshina whispered under his breath.

"Who's that?" Iharu questioned as he turned around to look.

"Base Inspector. Probably looking for me to bitch about something inane." Hoshina continued. Iharu took that as a sign to whisk the new person off to a different location, sensing a need to disappear before he got themselves caught in possible corporate crossfire. Hoshina prepped his best Resting Bitch Face as the lanky inspector approached viciously.

"Afternoon, Inspector." Hoshina said in a deadpan manner. He took a longer look at the man coming toward him and noticed he recognized none of the man's features.

'Hmm. I wonder if he's new?' Hoshina thought. His hopes were raised a little, thinking that this possibly new base inspector wouldn't have the same stick up his ass like the last two did.

"Vice Captain Hoshina. Just the person I was looking for." The inspector called out. He opened his mouth to begin what was most certainly about to be a mindless rant concerning some slighted offence over some breach in paperwork or protocol, but quickly shut it when he noticed Kafka making no move to acknowledge his presence.

"Well, I was going to bring up your continued disregard to execute less leniency toward how officers structure their reports, but now it seems I should take over instilling basic officer conduct as well." The Base Inspector straightened his square framed glasses and leveled the most demeaning glare at the tired, hairy, lump that had made its place on Hoshina's shoulder.

"Oh, lay off. He said he's tired." Hoshina countered. He was beginning to wonder if a mightier-than-thou attitude was a requirement to being an inspector.

"Lethargy is no excuse for blatant indifference to higher authority." The stringy looking man sniffed haughtily. A threatening, rolling, and loud inhuman growl emanated from Kafka, still not looking up from his place at Hoshina's side. Hoshina chuckled as he ruffled his hair while he talked to him.

"Mind being a dear and head up to Mina's office for a bit? The only adult in the room needs to discipline this child, apparently." Hoshina spoke in hushed tones, sounding incredibly loving into Kafka's ear. Only a more disappointed growling whimper was heard in response.

"You could beg for more cuddles if she's in there." Hoshina sang quietly as he nosed Kafka's hair. The slacked-spined man lifted his head to stare disapprovingly at the unwanted interloper before planting a smooch to his Vice Captain's cheek and walked away, radiating an irritated aura all the way down the hall. The two that were left followed his path and waited for him to turn around a corner before continuing the discussion.

"You do know that having a relationship between a higher authority figure and an officer is prohibited, correct?" The inspector said as he turned back to face Hoshina.

"You know that man has a fortitude rating, correct?" Hoshina snarked.

"Don't you mean an aptitude rating?" The inspector returned wearily.

"No, fortitude." Hoshina reiterated firmly as he stepped closer into the inspector's personal space, " Ya'know, because he's a kaiju and all." The inspector tried not to express it, but he seemed taken aback. first from the clear hostility, then from realizing what Hoshina meant.

The inspector's lips flapped open and closed for a moment before letting slip a small, simple "oh."

"Were you not made aware that we had such a person within our ranks?" Hoshina asked poignantly.

"I was made very aware of such personnel." The inspector said as he adjusted his glasses again, "What I wasn't made aware of was how much leniency he seems to be permitted to have because of such an obscenely paltry standing." The inspector spoke with baseless higher authority, attempting to recover from finding himself on the back step. Hoshina could feel his lips being stretched thin over his teeth as he felt the need to use them to rip the throat out of this obstinate and unwarranted trespasser.

"Then you should have also been made aware of how that man had not only saved the lives of millions, but also saved the planet six times over consecutively." While being shorter than the inspector, Hoshina did a fine job of making it seem like he was towering over the other man.

" As... notable... as those achievements are, it shouldn't take away the fact that a relationship between an officer and a Vice Captain is unconducive to to the workplace since it could be used to unjustly gather sway in one's ranking." The base inspector held his position in the conversation, but was forced to slink down in height as he cowered under Hoshina's invasive presence.

"Ohh, trust me. The higher ups have made it very clear that he's already achieved the highest ranking they'll allow him, and that's being an exploitable weapon." Wrath tinged the edges of his words as he managed to climb higher over the base inspector.

"There is nothing in this world that he hasn't earned by not working his ass off for. So excuse me for thinking that the least he's owed is the right to express some fuckin' PDA." Hoshina could feel the tips of his lips curl into an unfriendly smile with an uncanny amount of teeth showing.

"If you really want to drag rank over this and piss off a man who's capable of leveling all of Western Japan for no decent reason, be my guest. If you have nothing drastically important to talk about, like something that's impeding the health and wellness of my officers, then I bid you farewell and hope your day is as wonderful as you are." Hoshina reclined back onto his heels and crisply marched away from the inspector, who still wasn't recovered from the invasion of personal space and was stuck being slant backwards, even as Hoshina moved out of eyesight.

Minutes later, Hoshina had found himself in Mina's office. Hoping to join in on Kafka's sudden bout of needed physical closure, he slipped past the threshold and quietly dumped his gym bag next to the door. Taking up most of the center of the room in front of the desk, was Mina, sandwiched between Bakko and Kafka. Reclined against the tiger formed monster, Mina looked silently overjoyed to have an asleep Kafka nestled between her legs as he rested his head on her stomach. Laying tilted on his side, the left portion of his face was buried in Mina's clothes while his arms had dug a hold around her midsection, framing his head. A low vibration hung in the air, getting louder as Hoshina snuck over.

"Need me to pry him off?" Hoshina lovingly muttered into Mina's forehead as he planted a small smooch as well.

"Later. Now, I need you to grab my phone!" Mina tried to contain her excitement as quietly as she could while gently brushing her free hand through Kafka's hair, the other being trapped under his heavy shoulder.

"Yes, he looks adorable, doesn't he?" Hoshina playfully rolled his eyes as he made moves to stand up.

"Well, yes, but you can't tell me you can't hear this?" Mina's smile was wide as she looked up at Hoshina. He took a second to listen as he processed the low rumble in the room.

"Is... is that not Bakko purring?" Hoshina questioned.

"No, he's awake!" Mina harshly whispered in joy as she jabbed her finger behind her, "This is all him!" She pointed her finger again at Kafka, emphasizing her revelation.

Hoshina made a quiet, deep throated cackle as he comically tiptoed around her desk to grab the phone and pull up the camera. He managed to settle onto the floor and shimmy his way under Mina's free arm as he held the camera close to Kafka's face. They got at least a good minute of audio, starring his purrs before Hoshina decided to end it there, not wanting to push their luck.

"It's a shame he can't purr all the time. Instead of the sleep talking, I mean." Mina commented as Hoshina made himself more comfortable in their embrace on the floor.

"We wouldn't be able to get out of bed in the morning if he did." Hoshina muttered sleepily as he finally stopped shifting when he found a good spot to settle into. Mina brushed his hair for a second while she returned the forehead kiss from earlier before relaxing into the warm and heavy pile she had unintentionally made for herself.

@iceclew

I hate to ask this from ya, but... Have you seen this yet? If you didn't have an opinion one way or another, that's fine. Just wanted to ask.

[drinksglue]

I'd like to propose a new rule for fandom:

If you have the time and energy to complain that there are not enough people writing the types of fanfiction that you want to see because they are daring to enjoy themselves by writing other things that you personally don't like to read, then you also have the time and energy to sit down at your keyboard and write it yourself and are, by default, volunteering yourself to do so.

"Everybody is too obsessed with [popular ship]! Nobody's writing for my favorite ship!"

Then write it yourself.

"Everybody's writing SHIP and SMUT fics! I want something else!"

Then write it yourself.

"Why isn't anyone writing super in-depth 200 chapter fics with fully realized plots and character development?!"

Because that takes time and energy that not everyone is willing to invest in a hobby they're partaking in for fun. Oh yeah, and WRITE IT YOURSELF if you want it so damn bad.

There's nothing wrong with feeling frustrated that you can't find what you're looking for because you have specific taste, or perhaps your taste is different from that of the majority of the fandom. This is fine and understandable and I completely relate! But once you start complaining that the only reason people won't write what you want them to is because they're "lazy", "unoriginal", or any other insult you might think is clever, then what you're doing is demanding other people put down what they're doing to serve YOU.

Fanworks are shared with you, not made for you. Unless commissioned, fanfiction is not a commercial product and it is not held to any standards of excellence. It has an inherent right to be as polished or as messy, as defined or as vague, as the author pleases. All works of fiction about fictional characters have an innate right to exist. Your ideas are no different, but it is on you to bring those ideas into existence.

Your options are to find the fics you like, commission an author (under the table of course), or write it yourself. These things are YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. NOBODY ELSE'S.

[boxwinebaddie]

🎸 happy uncneen pepinursteppermint wintereve 🍬 ❤️‍🔥

❤️🤘 + ft. how i think my styles would say HYH

[shhh-secret-time]

Baby please, I am begging you to get out of the tags!! You can't keep those headcanons there! Because when I read that Butters is the museum owner in your Au I squealed so loudly!! He would be so cute! Getting all stary eyed everytime you bring something in??? AHHHH! 💖💖💖💖

Yes!! He starts off just so sad that the museum doesn't have anything. Constantly cleaning the display cases even though there's nothing in there.

But the farmer (you), come around with the little trinkets you find at the mines. Digging things up or finding them while fishing. And like you said he just gets these stars in his eye. (Yeah he still lost the other one)

Goes on for hours if you'll let him! Speculating the history behind the dwarven artifacts. He polishes those gems with such care! Butters is the happiest he's ever been since leaving the big city.

I think Kenny and him decided to just runaway one day. They grabbed Karen and moved out to the valley!

(That way if you ship Bunny it works, and if you don't it's just two besties supporting each other.)

As you start bringing in more things he starts looking over at the front door more. He perks up expecting you to come in covered in dirt, but he thinks it gives you a certain charm. He can smell the earth on you and immediately associates you with a flower of some kind. He'll change the flower pinned to his shirt to whatever that flower is. Got red hair? He's got tulips. The prettiest blue eyes ever?! Hydrangeas put carefully next to his heart. Oh you think your brown eyes are boring? How dare you, they're patches of soil that help support life!

Dude practically has hearts fluttering around his head when he sees you. Lips quivered into a smile, trying not to giggle just because he's nervous.

I swear his one heart event would be him crafting you something. He works with Scott to build a display case for it and sends it to you. It's not so big that it won't fit in the mailbox, maybe like a little box. It'll be something that doesn't belong in a museum but maybe one day it'll be in the house you share.

I'm working on Stan's sheet right while I'm at work! I'm writing up heart events like he's gonna be in the game ☠️

Tag List: @hunnysnoops @apple-butter-tea

[tired-gae]

Prompt #27: "That's not the point"

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Teen (for cursing)

No warnings as of now!! (If there is something that should be put here, let me know!)

(No ships either)

Premise: Post-revival (Died in Infinity War, ambiguously is Alive at present time, between Infinity War and Endgame) Loki and Clint have a conversation.

---

Loki had been in the Avengers Compound for nearly a week. It had been a few days since the revelation that the Invasion of New York was not done voluntarily on Loki’s part (and since he’d last seen Barton.) Thanos was a topic of heavy discussion, of course, given the whole ‘Snap’ business. Loki’s almost glad he was dead at the time, if only because he didn’t have to witness that event. 

He and Barton hadn’t made eye contact since he’d returned. This did not come as a surprise, and Loki expected this pattern to continue.

So imagine his shock when, as Loki is sitting against a wall in an unused training room in an attempt to think uninterrupted, Barton walks into the room and sits down mere feet from him. Loki glances over but chooses not to react. Whatever Barton is trying to accomplish, he’s sure it will make itself clear soon.  

He observes the agent quietly. Barton looks tired. He’s staring, eyes half-lidded, at the floor, and appears older than Loki remembers. (Though, he supposed, it had been a good number of years since New York. Mortals aged quickly, did they not?) He takes note of Barton’s lack of weapons. (Visible ones, anyway. He is a spy.) A display of benevolence, perhaps? He can’t imagine it’s a display of trust, considering it all.  

Loki looks away once again. It continues to be silent.  

The silence is expected. Loki can hear the gentle whine of Barton's hearing aids. (An old pair, presumably worn for comfort reasons. Stark had bought (made?) him a pair recently, after deciding the technology around Clint's ears was subpar at best, and that the archer could do better. Loki had yet to see him wear them.)  

The silence is also fragile. Barton is the first one to break it.  

"You too, huh?" 

Loki hums quietly. "In a different way, but... yes." 

Barton picks at the skin around his fingernails. "I had a feeling." 

Loki's head snaps toward him, stunned. He struggles to find words for a moment, mouth opening and closing stupidly. He settles on, "Pardon?" 

Barton's eyes finally flicker over to Loki's, his eyes still half-lidded, tired. "You do realize I remember a good amount of my time under the mind-control crap, right? I mean, it wasn't that hard to figure out." He looked away again. "I don't actually have pigeon shit for brains."

Loki takes a moment to form his response, choosing only to respond to the last part of the statement. "I'm aware. You were the brains behind the stunt in Germany, and subsequently the entire plan, after all. I could hardly think you were stupid." 'A distraction and an eyeball,' if Loki remembered correctly. 

Barton's face twists into a grimace briefly before he shakes it off. "Anyway—the point was, I remember a lot of those few days. I remember you going into a trance-like thing a few times, and coming back from it all shaky and shit. ...Not that you weren't really shaky the whole time. You were weirdly weak, and despite telling us not to overwork ourselves, you didn't really seem to sleep at any point..." He shrugged. "I dunno. After I more-or-less got over it all, it wasn't exactly a difficult conclusion to come to that there was something fishy going on, that you weren't really the big bad." 

Loki stared at the wall opposite them, fingers digging into the flesh of his arms where he was crossing them. It was silent again for only a moment. 

"Oh, and SHIELD's known since forever." Barton added like an afterthought. "I mean, they combed through basically every piece of footage from the invasion, I've seen the clips. They analyzed the shit out of the footage from the collapsed PEGASUS facility, they couldn't really ignore all the signs that you weren't quite... at your best when you showed up." Understatement of the millennium, Loki thought with very little mirth. Barton looked over lazily again, though this time Loki was the one avoiding eye contact. 

"Anywho." Barton continued, quieter. "This isn't forgiveness or any crap like that." 

"I wouldn't expect it to be," Loki agreed. 

"It is... I dunno. An olive branch I guess." He shrugged, crossing his arms in a mirror to Loki to stop himself from picking more at the skin on his hands. "Part of me still wants to put an arrow through your skull, but, y'know, it's a small part." 

Loki frowned. "You would be completely entitled to do so, if you wished. I would not stop you from taking that revenge." It likely wouldn't even kill him, he mused. Nothing seems to be able to do that these days. 

Barton groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Loki can't help but wonder what he'd said wrong. "See, you say shit like that, and it makes that part even smaller. I mean, dude. I'm not actually gonna fucking shoot you." 

Loki can't say he understands why not, but he can't say he understands much about Barton. (Despite quite literally being in his mind at one point.) None of these mortals make much sense. 

Barton sighed, letting his hand drop again. “Anyways. That’s not the point. The gist is... we’re OK, all things considered. If you catch me using a printed out picture of your face on a dummy during target practice, mind your business. That’s just how my brain works.” He shifts, standing back up from their position of sitting against the wall. “I’ll see you around, terrorist. Don’t die on us again. Still needja for the whole killing Thanos thing.” 

Loki rolled his eyes at the ‘terrorist’ nickname. “Never losing that epithet, am I?” 

“Not a chance.” 

[merlinfromberlin]

TFP AU idea: Megatron redemption arc but it's an emotional drama about Bumblebee's conflict with Optimus regarding Megatron and Bee feeling utterly betrayed by Optimus' acceptance of Megatron;

and maybe later it turns out that it really has been a psychological thriller all this time with Megatron slowly brainwashing all of the Autobots into trusting him;

[adelacreations]

I will say that I find it hilarous that antis who for YEARS have been parroting alt right rhetoric and being pro-censorship are now in shock that the Trump administration might come after places like Ao3

Why you mad? While maybe some of you didn't vote for him, people kept telling you that the way you speak is going to fuck you over time and time again. And you didn't listen, you called us names, you told people to kill themselves. You doxxed people. If you could find them in real life during conventions you stalked them

You asked for this

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ You can always ask ~

YAYAYAYAY AFTER PUTTING THIS OFF FOR WEEKS HERE IT IS: MY FIRST TMNT 2012 FIC!!! TAKE THAT WRITERS BLOCK!!! TAKE. THAT. LETS FREAKING GO AAHHHHH I MISS THESE DUMBASS BLORBOS AMNSSJKSLSOSM 💗💞💞💞💕💖💖💖💖

This is a gift to the spectacular @vxlepop!!!

Lee: Leo🐢💙

Ler: Mikey🐢🧡

Summary: Mikey has noticed throughout the week that his oldest brother has been acting…off. Call him paranoid all you want but he just…he just knows something’s up with Leo. And the youngest of the Hamato brothers’ is determined to figure out what’s bothering they’re leader in blue.

Warnings: Tickling and spacing out (just for a tad bit though). If you are uncomfortable that please scroll down- this fanfic is definitely not for you :)

(A/N: T*EST DNI. I WILL ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS PUT THIS AT THE BEGINNING OF MY FICS- I DON'T WANT THOSE PEOPLE GETTING CONFUSED. THEY'RE BROTHERS U DISGUSTING ASSHOLES. UR ABSOLUTELY NASTY IF U SHIP T*EST-! THATS COMMON SENSE!!! GUESS COMMON SENSE ISN’T THAT COMMON, HM?)

——————————————————————————————————

Call Mikey paranoid. 

Call him a worry-wart. 

But his eldest brother, Leonardo, has been acting…off. And it’s been absolutely dreading Mikey inside this whole week to ask his eldest brother what was wrong. Leo’s been quiet, more than he usually is and even that alone is saying a lot. The oldest has been training with his swords non-stop, meditating like crazy and practicing speaking Japanese fluently, and not really talking to Mikey or his brothers, only if it had to do with those topics. 

Which…now that Mikey thinks about it, it does sound like everyday Leo. But he just knows that somethings wrong with the leader in blue…there’s got to be. Maybe Mikey is worrying too much, he is known to turn little things into a big deal after all. But on the other hand, he has been living with his brothers his whole darn life, if anyone would know if something was bothering one of them, he would know! …probably. 

And…now that Mikey thinks about it…

Leo hasn’t watched any Space Hero’s episodes this week…

Yup. Something was up. Mikey knew that for a fact now and you couldn’t tell him otherwise. But the real question is, what can Mikey do about it? Leo was very…closed off about his negative feelings, and didn’t like talking about them at all. Even though it was completely healthy and normal to feel negative emotions; literally every emotion is! His eldest brother told them that several times himself!

And yet, Leo never talks to Mikey or their other brothers about his negative feelings! Tch, what a hypocrite. 

And…maybe this is partially Mikey’s fault as well. Mikey has always falled for Leo’s “older sibling worry™”, but Mikey has never really worried about him that much. Sure, when Leo’s injured during a fight or he sees his brother patch up a bruise from training he asks if he’s okay…but other than that Mikey doesn’t ask him that question often.

But it’s not like Mikey didn’t care enough to ask Leo that! He does! He really does! But the thing is…Leo’s always they’re leader, they’re older brother, they’re protection. Leo’s always been the one that’s just…been there for Mikey and his brothers- ways that even they’re Father can’t compete with and the youngest can’t be anything more but grateful for that.

And…the sad truth is Leo isn’t just they’re leader or protection, under all those labels Leo’s just a kid. An amazing, strong, independent kid who has more on his plate than any other 15 year old should. And it seems Mikey, including everyone else AND Leo, forget that sometimes…

“MICHAELANGELO!” Mikey jumped from off the couch in the living room at the sudden random yell of his name, pulling him out of his thoughts. Mikey grabbed his nunchucks from off the cushion. He began to swing them, looking around the lair in hopes to find whomever called his name. “Who’s there?! How do you know my name?” The youngest turtle demanded, swinging his nunchucks faster and doing complicated tricks with them. 

“Mikey-“ 

Without a second thought Mikey closed his eyes and swung his nunchucks, coming in contact with a figure and them hitting the ground. Mikey opened his eyes and looked around before sighing in relief. A couple seconds after that the youngest heard a groan underneath him and looked down to see his older brother lying face flat. 

“Wait- Raph???” Mikey gasped, immediately dropping his nunchucks to examine his brother that was lying on the floor groaning lightly. “What’re you doing on the floor, bro?” Mikey chuckled, confused and intrigued to hear as to why his brother was currently kissing the lair floor. Raph slowly got up from off the floor; massaging the right side of his head as he glared at the youngest.

“I was comin’ to check up on ya after I finished nappin’, but ya nunchucks just wanted to get to know my head better I guess…” Raph huffed, crossing his arms around his plastron and shaking his head. Mikey stared at Raph confused, his nunchucks wanted to get to know Raph’s head better? 

Wait…

The youngest gasped in horror, going to his older brother and giving him a bone crushing hug. “Oh my god! Raph I’m so sorry! I spaced out and you know how I get when that happens so when I heard someone- apparently you call my name I just I dunno- reacted! I’m so sorry, is your head okay?!” Mikey rambled, releasing Raph from the hug and grabbed his head, shaking and examining him to make sure he wasn’t hurt. He continued to shake Raph’s head up, down, and to the side, making sure there weren't any bruises or cuts anywhere. 

Raph struggled but soon got out of Mikey's surprisingly strong hold on his head. The second oldest turtle sighed and patted Mikey’s shoulder, giving him a genuine smirk. “I’m okay, lil bro. I was just jokin’ with ya, the hit wasn’t even that hard.” Raph chuckled, now sitting on the couch as Mikey followed, sitting next to him.

“Are you sure…?” Mikey asked, fiddling with his fingers and looking up at Raph, guilt very evident on his face. “Positive.” The older replied, wrapping the younger into a side hug as the orange banded turtle fully gave into the hug. After a couple of seconds the two released from they’re embrace. The older went to grab the remote and turn on the TV, putting on some random channel before turning to Mikey.

“What’s got you so freaked out like that anyway?” Raph asked, concern written all over his face. Because, yeah, the nunchucks did hurt, badly. Obviously! I mean- they’re nunchucks. C’mon now. Raph’s a strong guy but he’s not that strong for the hit not to hurt. He just didn’t want Mikey to feel worse than he already did. 

There’s only been a couple of times where Mikey spaces out, completely unaware of anything that’s happening around him that he just…reacts when he’s able to get back to reality…if that makes sense. All those times being when he was around 7 or 8 years old, or sometimes when he’s really stressed about something. So for him to do it right now is a bit worrying… 

Guess old habits die hard. 

“It’s Leo…” Mikey said, looking down. Raph’s eyes widened, starting to  get up from the couch to grab his sai’s that were on a table, which were just a couple steps away. “What- what happened? Is Leo alright?” Raph asked. Did he miss something important while he took a 2 hour Power Nap? What could possibly have happened in the 2 hours he was taking a nap?! …you know what? No. Why would he even wonder that? The universe has a way of making him and his brother’s lives a literal hell in the key span of 24 hours, who’s to say it didn’t max down to 2?

“What-? No! Nonono! Nothing like that! Leo isn’t in danger or anything!” Mikey reassured Raph as he guided him back on the couch. The older glared at him, slapping Mikey in the back of the head causing him to playfully yell. “Don’t scare me like that again, man…” Raph sighed in relief, at least his older brother wasn't hurt. Physically at least… 

“Just…I feel like something’s up with him…y’know?” Mikey sighed. The red banded turtle nodded, letting Mikey know he was listening. “Why don’t you ask him about it then?” Raph asked. “I don’t wanna bother him, though…” Mikey said, slumping on the couch and looking up to the lair’s ceiling, in hopes to find the answer right there. But there was no way it would be that easy…it never is.

“Look. We all know that Leo can be…Leo.” Raph said, wrapping Mikey into another side hug resting his chin on the top of Mikey’s head. “And you know how he can be when we try to get him to talk about his negative feelings; he gets defensive. Which, honestly, I get. It’s hard talking about your negative emotions sometimes.” Raph started, recalling many times where he second-guessed himself to talk to his family about his feelings. 

“But we all have to talk about it eventually, because stuffing those kinds of feelings inside yourself is like stuffing an already full suitcase; one of these days it’ll burst. And you will face the consequences and be left to clean it up.” Raph said, releasing Mikey from his hug and smiling at him. “I’m not the best at this whole big bro lesson thing, but just talk to him, Mike. Just talk to him.” Raph smiled, squeezing Mikey’s shoulder comfortingly. 

The youngest beamed at that,“Thanks Raph! You’re the best!” Mikey cried, squeezing Raph into a hug. The red banded turtle squaked at the sudden contact, patting Mikey’s head comfortingly before both of them let go of each other. Mikey got up and ran to his eldest brother's room. Now 101% determined to figure out what was bothering his eldest bro. I mean, what could go wrong? 

.

.

.

Leo wanted to go up to the surface and jump off the nearest building’s window in hopes he would get absolutely crushed by the upcoming cars of New York City. Which, he knows he shouldn’t say or think…but he really can’t help it right now. 

He’s in a Lee mood, a bad one. And he doesn’t know what to do. Like any normal person, they would go and ask a family member or close friend to tickle them, right? Right. 

But Leo couldn’t do that. 

He just couldn’t. 

It’s not like he doesn’t trust his family enough to ask. But he’s the leader, they’re protection, but most importantly, he’s they’re older brother. And he can’t be asking for such childish things out of his younger brothers. He just wouldn’t. So he would do like he did anytime he got into a Lee mood and just…deal with it until it subsided.

Annnndddd now he’s sulking like a little baby because he can’t just simply deal with it. Wonderful. 

Just…

Wonderful.

The blue banded turtle sighed, flopping on his bed and burying his face in the pillow, letting out an annoyed muffled groan followed by a couple giggles soon after. Whoever designed pillows, Leo would probably want to marry that person right now because if the groan and giggled weren’t muffled from his pillows, his family would have run into his room, asking him a bunch of questions. Which Leo wasn’t in the mood for. Again, he was in the mood for something else…but he wouldn’t ask for it. There was no way.  

Speaking of family, Leo heard a knock at the outside of his door, slightly flinching at the sudden noise. Leo groaned from under his pillow, taking a deep breath, “Who is it?” Leo asked, trying his best to sound at least decent but probably failed. “Hey, Leo!” Mikey greeted, inviting himself into the eldest room, closing the door as he entered. “Hey Mike, what’s up?” Leo asked, getting his head from under the pillow and sitting up on his bed, facing the youngest.

Mikey cleared his throat, going over to Leo’s bed and sitting on the edge of it annddddd oh man. Mikey didn’t plan ahead this far. Mikey sat on the edge of the eldest bed, opening his mouth to say something but quickly closed it. Mikey kept his gaze away from Leo and fiddled with his fingers, trying his best to at least say something but his mouth was not communicating with him at the moment. 

The oldest saw the youngests’ fiddling with his fingers in his lap, Leo’s gaze softened as he got out of the covers and sat next to him on the edge of the bed. “You…do know you can tell me anything, right?” Leo said, putting a hand on Mikey’s shoulder. The youngest looked at Leo, face hardening. No! Nononononono! He wasn’t going to fall for this, not again. Not. Again. 

This isn’t about him right now, it’s about his eldest brother. That’s the whole freaking reason he came here! To ask if he’s okay! Like hell is he going to change the worryness (A/N: Is that even a word? Worryness? Eh. Whatevs) onto him. 

“You should take your own words into consideration, Leo…” Mikey mumbled, turning his face away from Leo, resting his head on both of his palms looking down. Leo looked at him in confusion, sitting closer and pulling him into a hug, resting his chin onto the top of Mikey’s head. The younger leaned into the touch, sighing sadly. 

The two knew each other were upset, and wanted to help anyway they could. All of the Hamato brothers might be different people with different personalities, but one thing through all of them stayed the same…

They were stubborn as hell. 

“What do you mean, little bro?” Leo asked.  The youngest sighed again, resting on Leo’s plastron. “You’ve been kinda…uh I dunno.” Mikey started, “Distant this week?” Mikey said as if he was asking some sort of question, even though that was far from it. He knew his brother was being distant this week.

“Oh…” Leo said flatly, almost as if he was expecting this kind of confrontation about this. Leo figured this would happen sooner or later, just wasn’t expecting it this soon. The two brothers looked at the ground, both not being sure on how to continue the conversation. 

“Just…I dunno…I feel as if you’re avoiding us? You’ve been training more than you usually do, doing a lot of mediation, more than Splinter, and you haven’t even watched any Space Hero episodes!” Mikey listed, finger curling into a fist before releasing in soon after. “I…I just wanted to ask if you’re okay…” Mikey said, starting to tear up about the fact that he realized he has never asked that question to Leo before. 

“Well…I-“ Leo’s face soon turned a shade of red, the blue cladded turtle released from the hug put his face in his left palm, groaning. “I want to tell you Mike, I really really do but it’s just…embarrassing.” Leo said, looking at the ground, still blushing.

“…Did you get a girlfriend?”

“What? No-“

“Boyfriend then?!? HAH. I KNEW YOU WERE GAY! Raph and Don owe me $50 dollars each and a free pizza!” 

“What- why would you- you guys bet if I was-“ Leo pinched the space between his eyes, taking a deep breath. That’s a topic for a different day…

“No, Mikey. I don’t have a significant other.” Leo said, chuckling a bit. Mikey groaned dramatically, flopping on Leo’s bed. “C’mon dude! You can just tell meeee! I promise I won't make fun of you!” Leo sighed and crossed his arms, still looking down.

“Or do I have to tickle the answer out of ya~?” Mikey teased, getting up and starting to wiggling his fingers near Leo’s side as a taunt. Leo started giggling and holding Mikey’s wrists, but not pushing them away at all. 

Wait. 

This seems so freaking familiar…

When Mikey was about to come into the room, he heard Leo giggling and he swore he saw the blue banded lightly poking himself in the side and skittering his fingers along his own stomach…

Why didn’t Mikey figure this out sooner?!

Leo…

Leo was in a Lee mood…

“Wait…that’s it isn’t it?” The youngest turtle said gasping, “You…want me to tickle you, don’t you?” Mikey grinned as he saw his brother turn a red shade that he couldn’t describe. “Don’t say that out loud.” Leo groaned, getting the courage to glare at his little brother. 

Leo looked at his brother before groaning again. “This week I’ve felt…y’know….” Leo said, waving his hands trying to symbolize what he was trying to say because like hell was he going to say the dreaded word…or anything close to it by that matter. Leo began wiggling his fingers lightly before stopping. “That.” Leo said as Mikey listened. 

“But…why didn’t you tell us, Leo? We would have understood and we would’ve been more than happy to tickle you!” Mikey said, stopping wiggling his fingers and relaxing on the end of the bed next to Leo. 

The oldest sighed, a sigh Mikey knew too well.

With being the youngest, Mikey knew the kinds of sighs Leo did and what each of them meant. Sometimes he did a “Please-stop-joking-around” sigh or an “I’m-older-than-you-therefore-you-have-to-listen-to-me-” sigh, but this one was definitely a “You-wouldn’t-understand” sigh. “That’s- That’s not the same Mikey…you all are younger than I am.” 

“…so?”

“So, that means that I can’t get into these weird…funks. It’s childish.” Leo said in a very relaxed tone, as if what he just said wasn’t the absolute dumbest thing Mikey has heard. And that’s saying a lot since the orange banded turtle has heard Donnie talk loads of times, and anything coming out of his immediate older brothers mouth is automatically dumb.

“That’s complete and utter bullshit!” Mikey yelled, getting up from the end of the bed and facing Leo. The oldest flinched slightly at the volume change but continued to look at the floor.

“First, I don’t think you seem to remember, Leo, but we’re quadruplets- dude, we’re the same age. You might be the oldest of us, but not by that much. And secondly, you’re a child too. We’re 15. You don’t have to worry about being childish because you are literally a child!”

“But-“ 

“Is me, Donnie, and Raph asking you to tickle us childish?” Mikey asked, crossing his arms across his plastron, recalling too many times where he and his other older brothers got into Lee moods and asked Leo to tickle them. “No of course not!” Leo interjected, looking at Mikey and getting up from the bed, eyes widened. 

The youngest smiled at the reaction and went back to sit at the end of the bed, anger now gone from before. “So why in the world is you asking one of us to tickle you considered childish, hm?” Leo blushed a bit harder as he kept his gaze at the ground. His little brother actually has a point…which is a first. 

After a couple moments of silence the youngest went to sit next to Leo, happy that his eldest brother could see where his reasoning to “being the oldest therefore asking for affection is bad” made no sense whatsoever. Leo sighed for like the millionth time today, putting his hand over his face and slowly dragging it down. 

“So…if I asked for you to…to uhm, do uh, yeah. Would you…would you do it?” Leo asked timidly, which was something the orange banded turtle really never saw his older brother express. Mikey only chuckled at the older, beaming happily, “Dude, duh. Why do you think I made that epic speech about it being okay for you to ask for tickles?” Mikey said, crossing his arms and nodding his head in confirmation. 

“So…can you…can you do the thing?” Leo asked, blushing again, “If…if you don’t mind-“

“Dude, of course! Literally all you had to do was ask!” Mikey smiled, wrapping Leo into another hug. Mikey then suddenly pushed Leo on the middle of his bed, sitting on top of him before wiggling his fingers over him teasingly. This was also something Mikey didn’t plan out either…the orange banded turtle wasn’t even sure where Leo was ticklish…which made the youngest feel a bit more guilty for not asking him about his Lee mood sooner. But he was gonna find out where his older brother was ticklish, obviously. How hard could it possibly be anyway?

“Just use the code word when you want me to stop, okay?” Mikey said. The oldest firmly nodded as Mikey began to lightly skitter his fingers around his brothers sides; the only spot Mikey knew for a fact Leo was ticklish, recalling too many times where he tased him in the side during training causing the older to stiffen and cover up his sides. Which he was doing right now, actually. 

Leo squinted his eyes shut as he hugged his middles and tried to squirm away from Mikey. The younger laughed at how squirmy the older was suddenly but after a couple seconds he was switching between kneading, scratching, and prodding at Leo’s sides but his older brother's reaction was still the same. And he hasn’t even laughed yet! Not a single giggle!

“C’monnnnn! Laugh already!” Mikey whined as he picked up the pace with his side tickling tactic, moving up and down Leo’s sides. The youngest then moved to tickle Leo’s neck, causing Leo to suddenly squeak at the sudden six fingers on the sides of his neck and burst into a somewhat high-pitched laugh, kicking his legs and holding Mikey’s wrists. 

“PFF-! NoHoHOh! DahaHaHAmmit!” Leo giggled in defeat, cursing himself for not being able to hold in his laughter any longer than a couple seconds. But Mikey happily smiled, finally being able to make his older brother laugh. “Hah! Works every time: never let them know your next move!” 

Leo wholeheartedly glared at Mikey through his laughter as he poked Mikey in the plastron where his lower ribs would be- one of Mikey’s known death spots. The orange banded turtle squealed at the touch, twisting and turning on top of the eldest as Leo continued to tickle him. Oh that little cheater. “HEHEY! Hehey! NohoHOH!” Mikey giggled, wholeheartedly glaring back at Leo who only stuck his tongue out at the younger. 

And here Mikey thought he was the little shit of the family. 

“Oho you are gonna regret that, Leo” Mikey said as he stuffed his hands in Leo’s underarms. The older screeched, kicking his legs on the bed at a faster pace. “OHO MY GAHAHAD- WAHAIT! NAHAT THEHERE!” Leo cried, as he thrashed underneath as his legs kicked along the bedsheets. Leo put his arms down as he still was holding the youngers wrists as he evily evily traced in his underarm.

“MIHIHIKE! MIHIHIKEY PLEHEHEASE!” Leo laughed loudly, blushing a light red because as much as the older one was enjoying this, it was so embarrassing. Mikey was barely tickling Leo, and he was kicking and thrashing like a little kid. But again, he was enjoying this so he won’t complain. 

“That’s what you get for tickling me, bro! I’m the Tickle Monster as of right now and no one tickles the Tickle Monster!” Mikey chuckled at Leo, now beginning to pick up the pace with his tickling at Leo’s underarms. The older whined through his laughter at the change of pace, trying to buck Mikey off of himself but the younger stayed sturdy on Leo’s waist as if it was glue. “IHIHI’M SAHAHAHARRY! Leo yelled. 

The younger one laughed at Leo’s reaction to the new pace, deciding to turn it up a notch as he kneaded the sides of Leo’s underarms causing him to do a girly-like shriek and descend into mad-like cackles. “And here I thought the underarms were Raphie’s death spot!” Mikey said teasingly, “You’re literally squirming like a fish out of water!” The orange banded turtle taunted as the older face only reddened more at the teases. 

“SHUHUT IHIHIT-! MIHIHIKEY GEHET OHOUT OHOFF THEHERE PLEHEASE!” Leo belly laughed as Mikey only chuckled at the older’s hysteric pleas. “Ihi can’t dude! My hands are completely stuck!” Mikey laughed. If Leo wasn’t laughing his shell off he would have rolled his eyes at that comment, but he can’t. “NAHAHAO THEHEY AHAHAREN’T!” Leo yelled.

“Yehes they are! It seems your amazing incredible strength is keeping my hands here~!” Mikey laughed brightly, completely loving this situation. If you know Mikey you know for a fact that he loves making his brothers laugh, especially Leo, who out of all the turtle brothers laughed the most. So this situation was like pure heaven for Mikey. 

Mikey then easily moved his hands out of Leo’s underarms, shaking his hands out before cracking them a bit for dramatic effect. Ugh! Leo knew Mikey could have gotten his hands out anytime he wanted! He just wanted to be an evil little gremlin! Amazing incredible strength my ass. Mikey then held up Leo’s left as he used his other hand to tickle the olders stomach.

And if Leo was yelling earlier, then he was completely screaming up a storm now. Leo hit his free hand at Mikey’s hand, trying to cease Mikey’s cruel attack but when he was close to removing his hand, the younger would suddenly move to a different spot on his stomach, tickling worse where he was in the other spot. 

“Awwww, Leo! I’ve never gotten to see you laugh like this, dude! Your laugh is so cute!” Mikey cooed, as Leo’s face turned a deep crimson at the compliment. The older shook his head back and forth, trying to stop the tickling sensation but decided to just give up and accept it as he falled limp on the bed and laughed to his hearts content. “AHAHA NAHAHO! NAHAT THE THEHERE!” Leo laughed louder, tears beginning to prick out of his eyes. “MIHIHIKE *snort* PLEHEHEHEHEASE!”

Mikey immediately stopped tickling Leo, putting his hands to his own chest in alarm at the noise. The blue cladded turtles’ face slowly began to turn a light crimson again, but now his face was a shade of dark red no one would be able to describe. 

Leo covered his face completely with his hands, groaning the completely embarrassing noise he just made. The youngest of the twos’ startled look soon morphed into an evil smile, crossing his arms over his plastron in amusement. 

There’s no freaking way…

“Oho my gohohod…did you just snort?” Mikey asked cheekily. “Noho ihi dihihidn’t…” Leo lied, almost regretting even asking for Mikey to tickle him…almost. “Dude you totally did! Do it again!” Mikey said as he suddenly dipped his head into Leo’s stomach, blowing a huge loud raspberry causing the older to completely lose his mind in snorts and squeals. “AHA! PLEHEHEASE! MIHIHIKE! *snort* IHIHI’M GOHOHONNA DIHIHIE!” Leo cried, still not fighting back but his legs kicking around all behind Mikey only causing the younger to giggle. 

“Raph and Don are gonna get a kick out of this~!” The orange banded turtle said into Leo’s tummy, blowing raspberry upon raspberry not even stopping to give the older one a breather. He wanted to make Leo have a fun time but this was also revenge in some way as well.

“Y’know, your upper body has been getting a lot of attention. Let’s see how ticklish your lower body is, big bro.” Mikey smiled, turning around to Leo’s lower body which caused him to start slapping the back of Mikey’s shell, trying to forcefully push him off. 

“EEEAHAHA! NAHAO *snort* DOHOHON’T!” Leo isn’t even sure why he’s screaming bloody murder right now, he doesn’t even know if his lower body is ticklish! But based on the past couple of minutes it wouldn’t be too high of an estimation to say his lower body was just as ticklish. 

Mikey poked the middle of Leo’s thigh, causing Leo to let out a glass shattering shriek as Mikey only smiled at the reaction. “Leheeo whahat was thahat?” Mikey amusingly asked. Leo, too embarrassed to even respond just groaned and waved his hand for Mikey to go on with it, knowing there was no stopping his little brother now. 

Mikey began to mercilessly squeeze, prod, and knead Leo’s thighs, even sneaking behind his knees and giving them a little pokes before going back to the thighs. Leo was in utter hysterics, not being able to stop Mikey and was forced to kick his legs and uselessly hit the back of his shell.

But obviously none of those tactics works as the younger happily tickles the sh*t out of his thighs. “NOOHOHO NAHAHAH! NAHA- *snort* MIHI- *snort* STAHAP!” Leo wasn’t even able to form a single sentence before going into loud cackles once again. 

“OKAHAHAY! OKAHA- *snort* MEHEHERCY *snort* MIHIKAHAHEEY!” Leo cried, finally having enough. The younger sighed but got off his anyways, letting the older take a breather as he sat next to him. “This isn’t over, dude. I still have to tickle some other spots y’know.” Mikey said as he poked Leo on the stomach causing him to let out a soft snort before he poked Mikey back on the side. “Whatehehever…” Leo breathlessly giggled, scared but…honestly excited this wouldn’t be the last time he’d be able to mess around with his brother like this. 

“Ahand thahanks, Mihihikey…I appreciate thihis” Leo smiled at Mikey. Now looking back, Leo doesn’t know why he was so afraid to tell his brother what was making him so upset. They’re brothers. They’re family. And like Mikey said before: Leo is a kid. He’s allowed to mess and play around with his brothers. So what if he's the leader? He’s a kid too. And it’s time Leo started realizing that. 

“Any time bro, literally anytime!” Mikey chirped. After a couple moments of silence a lightbulb went off in Mikey’s head as he slowly turned his head to the oldest grinning like a fool. “Y’know what I just realized?” Mikey said, leaning on a pillow on the board of the bed. “Whahat?”

“You can’t say Leo without the Lee, get it? Lee-o?” Mikey joked, nudging Leo in the side, his eyebrows raising up and down comically. Leo rolled his eyes wholeheartedly, playfully shoving Mikey’s face away giggling still; due to the aftermath tickles and Mikey’s funny joke. “Ihi gehehet ihit yohou dohork…” 

“Just something I thought I’d share.” Mikey shrugged, smiling. Leo rolled his eyes again, now adjusting his place on the bed so he sat next to Mikey. The younger rested his head on Leo’s shoulder as the older leaned in to the touch. “Well thanks for sharing…” Leo muttered. The two sat in comfortable silence for a while, Leo’s giggles now subsisted as the two just enjoyed each other company. 

“We heard screaming, are you two okay!?” Raph asked as he slammed Leo’s door completely open causing the oldest and youngest to fall flat on the floor due to the sudden noise and force. Raph gave out a tiny “oops” before getting out of the doorway to let Donnie in who was following him earlier.  

Mikey and Leo both exchanged glances before bursting out laughing. The two middle children looked at each other than back at the oldest and youngest complete confusion. “I’m gonna take those hysterics as a ‘yes we are completely fine”?” Donnie asked as him and Raph helped the both of them up so all the turtle brothers were standing. “Yeah, we’re okay.” Leo confirmed as Donnie and Raph relaxed at the olders confirmation.

“Oh! Which reminds me…” Mikey grinned, looking back at his older brother with a Cheshire grin before turning to his two other siblings. Raph and Donnie looked at each other again before looking at Mikey. The two middle children were so so confused as to what was happening as of right now but figured it would be best not to ask any questions. “Raph, Don, I have a little secret about our eldest brother-“

“Mikey-“ 

“And I’m sure this secret will…how should I put it? Tickle your funny bone...”

——————————————————————————————————

HUZZAH. FINISHING ONE OF MY WIPS- I FEEL SO ACCOMPLISHED U GUYSSSS I HOPE U ALL ENJOYED THIS ONE IT WAS SM FUN TO WRITE

[ducktollers]

every time i see someone online say they want mary jane watson in spiderman 4 even though michelle jones watson already exists i get so mad that i cook enough of my neurons to lose a year off my life

[crossbackpoke-check]

yOu'Re gOiNg fOr a LiTeR? | "Habs react to Quebec Maple facts", 10.22.24