#sorry if I had little to say at the end of this post

[bucketbueckers]

TEAM BUECKERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, kinda silly, kinda rushed

wc: 5.9k

synopsis: For you and Paige, the line between “friends” and “something more” wasn’t always this blurry. You weren’t quite sure how you got here, and if you were being completely honest, you didn’t know if you were brave enough to ever cross that line fully. It’s not until Paige ropes you into a Valentine’s Day couples contest you realize, with the two of you, that line never really existed at all.

notes: happy (late) valentines day 😋 yes i'm posting this after midnight on february 15 and yes i tried my best to get this out on the 14th when it was, you know, actually valentines day, but i fumbled majorly and im like 50% sorry. not proofread bc im sleepy. i lowkey don't know how to feel about this but i think the end makes up for it but i had an idea for this and it honestly derailed. i still don't know how taglists work (if you've asked and you're not on here, i'm sorry i will just throw up and die if i tag someone who doesn't actually want to be tagged in all of my works i hope u understand, pls be super specific my brain doesn't function like it used to) uhhh so yeah lmk what we think & happy vday 🫶

tags: @jnkbueckers

You and Paige weren’t always like this. There used to be a clear boundary in your friendship, a strictly platonic one where her embrace didn’t make your heart race and where her mischievous smile didn’t fill you with an exasperation that bordered on endearment. You didn’t always wear her jersey at games, didn’t always keep her favorite ice cream stocked in your apartment for nights she came over to binge watch the same show the both of you have probably seen a combined thousand times, didn’t always confuse where you begin or where she ends. There used to be a time where the two of you weren’t so inexplicably intertwined in the fabric of each other’s lives. 

If anyone asked, you wouldn’t be able to identify when everything shifted – when your feelings transformed into what they are now. It just happened. The realization was as easy as waking up next to her on the couch, your legs tangled under a blanket far too small for the both of you, her arm tight around your waist to prevent you from falling off of the cushions entirely. It was as easy as the spare toothbrush you keep in your bathroom because she sleeps over so often, as easy as the drawer you have in her room because sometimes her dorm is just closer than your apartment.

So maybe it was kind of inevitable that ‘you and Paige’ turned into a ‘You & Paige.’ The two of you have a simple understanding. You keep her grounded, she encourages you to dream a little bigger. You talk, she listens. You round each other out in so many ways that you’re not the least bit surprised by how many people think that you and Paige are dating. If anything, they’re more surprised when you correct them, saying, “She’s just my best friend.”

You’re content to take your feelings for her to the grave. Maybe you would get over her eventually. She’s Paige Bueckers. She has a national championship and the upcoming draft to focus on and you have your senior thesis due at the end of the semester. The both of you have a lot on your plates – you care for her too much to complicate things for her, even if that means putting your own feelings on the back-burner.

You’re sitting on your couch, twelve pages into your paper, sifting through the twenty-eight (yes, twenty-eight) tabs you have open for your research when you hear your door knob jiggle. You don’t think too much of it, trying to stay focused on the task in front of you before you give up and start scrolling through social media again. However, your discipline doesn’t last for too long because the familiar rhythm of footsteps could only belong to one person. You look up to find Paige making her way into your living room like she owns the place (which she may as well, considering how often she’s around), depositing her duffle bag on the armchair. You greet her, returning to your work, but you feel the couch dip under her weight as she takes a seat next to you.

And then she sighs. Loudly. Dramatically, like she’s begging for your attention. Like you’re not busy. You glance at her from the corner of your eye, finding her staring straight at you, but she says nothing. A few beats pass. You add a new sentence to your paper, pausing to go back and find the reference page. She sighs again, more purpose and intent behind it this time, and your lips quirk slightly. Still, she says nothing, and the silence stretches on for so long that you’re sure she’s given up on trying to annoy you.

You write one more sentence before she leans over, sprawling out across your body, chin pressing into your keyboard. Your eye twitches as a long string of ‘M’s takes over your Word document. Paige sighs again, sounding forlorn, like a kicked puppy, and you know you’re not going to get anything done unless you entertain her.

“Okay,” you say, pulling your computer out from under her head, making sure to save your paper before you close the lid. “What’s wrong?”

Her face brightens almost immediately. “I am so glad you asked,” she states. “So, I’m walkin’ through campus today, right?”

“As one does.”

She hums. “And there’s a shit ton of tabling outside the student union. Frats, clubs, some vegan guy giving out pamphlets –”

“Paige,” you interrupt, raising a brow. “The point?”

“Oh.” She nods, collecting her thoughts. “So there was this club – forgot who they were, lowkey, there was a lot of letters – but on Friday, they’re hostin’ a Valentine’s Day contest and the first place prize is insane. I’m talking gift cards, cookie decorating kits, I think there was even a coupon in there for a fucking spa trip, or some shit, but you get the point, yeah? I wanted to sign us up for it.”

You had to admit – you were a little intrigued by it. Between your class work and Paige and her teammates giving you an aneurysm every week, you were in dire need of a spa trip and a little bit of relaxation. But more than anything else in the world, you knew Paige. You recognized that gleam in her expression – it was a feigned nonchalance, like she was being slick and trying to hide it. “What’s the catch?” you ask bluntly.

She laughs, the sound more surprised than amused, and her head shifts in your lap to gaze up at you. You try to ignore the way it sets off a swarm of butterflies in your belly. “What makes you think there’s a catch?” she asks.

“You’re Paige Bueckers,” you state. “There’s always a catch. Like I knew there was a catch when you asked me if I would hide fourteen blonde wigs in my apartment.”

“They were for CD!” she argues. You narrow your eyes at her and she huffs a little, amused, her lips quirking into a radiant smile. “A’ight. I guess you got a point.” You hum, because of course you do. Her expression turns serious as she sighs, for real this time. “It’s a couple’s contest,” she admits. “But hear me out, okay?”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice,” you grumble, but your mind is racing.

“There’s a couple rounds,” she explains. “Like, the first round is trivia. How well do you know your partner, type shit. They score you, then they eliminate the people who don’t know shit about their partners. Second round is teamwork. They’ll give you a couple of puzzles and the most points will go to the teams who work well together and solve the puzzle quickly. More eliminations, then the partners are separated and they’re asked questions about each other – about what, I’on know. That should be the final round of eliminations and then the remaining couples are ranked based on points and prizes are given. Light work.”

“Light work?” you echo, a little self-deprecating. “Paige, we aren’t a couple.”

“Well, not exactly,” she concedes. “But we know each other pretty well. And can you really say no to the spa coupon?”

You bite your lip, sighing as you truly contemplate it. She’s got you there. The prize itself is worth the heartache that will come with pretending like you and Paige are actually dating. “You sure we can handle it?” you ask.

She pats your side, almost ignorant of the way it sends electricity coursing down your spine. “Duh,” she says like it’s obvious, her lips growing into a confident, assured smile. “We’re a dream team, baby. We got this.”

You could only hope so.

You nervously adjust your dress as you and Paige stand outside of the large room that the Valentine’s Day contest was taking place in. You spent the entire week leading up to Valentine’s Day an anxious wreck – part of you was worried that you would slip up and say something that you would come to regret, maybe say something a little too real. You had to keep reminding yourself that you and Paige were playing a part and once that gift basket was in your hands, then things could go back to normal. 

The two of you dedicated the better part of the week to perfecting your cover story. How you met, where you met, how long you’ve been together, all of the cheesy romance milestone moments that you were certain you’d be asked about. You mutually decided to not get too creative as maintaining the lie would become even more difficult, but you were confident in your ability to sell a story.

“You ready?” Paige asks you, drawing you from your racing thoughts as she squeezes your hand gently. You didn’t even realize her hand had slipped into yours. Now that you’re aware of it, it’s all you can think of. Her hand is strong, enveloping yours completely, and it brings you a calming peace you weren’t even aware that you’d been seeking out. Feeling yourself relax, you meet her eyes and nod, trying not to smile too hard when she beams at you.

As she leads the two of you inside the auditorium, you do your best to not stare too much at her. She’s dressed simply yet elegantly; donning a fitting suit that’s a light pink in color in honor of the occasion, the fluorescent lights overhead reflecting off of her stunning chains and the rings adorning her fingers. Her hair is tied back in her formal slick-back, the diamonds in her ears sparkling, and you really have to drag your eyes off of her. You’d already spent so much of the drive over staring at her and you’re sure she’d caught you a few times but was too nice to say anything to you.

The event had a decent turn out. You count fourteen couples at most, fifteen including you and Paige, although you couldn’t really tell if that was good or bad. Beating fourteen other real, actual, dedicated, in-love couples was totally manageable. So what if you and Paige weren’t actually together, but you were the most convincing pair of best friends the world had ever seen? She said you could do it, and damn it if you weren’t going to get that spa treatment.

The auditorium, however, was decorated to the nines. Lights and streamers were strewn about, various complementing shades of pinks and lilacs matching the Valentine’s Day themes. The tables were covered in pink tablecloths with gorgeous centerpieces. Honestly, you had to give props where they were due – this club has gone all out for this Valentine’s Day event, although you’re sure they probably splurged their semesterly budget on all of the amenities.

Before you or Paige have the chance to say anything to each other, you’re approached by a young woman wearing a pink polo shirt with the club's name and logo emblazoned on the chest. UConn, UMatter. You glance quickly at Paige, trying not to let the amusement show on your face as you remember her words – ‘There was a lot of letters.’ She was so full of shit. “Hi guys!” the young woman greets enthusiastically. “Thanks so much for signing up. What’s the last name?”

“Bueckers.”

The girl nods, scanning her clipboard before finding Paige’s name. “Okay, perfect. Let me show you guys to your table.” She leads you diligently through the room, craning her head over her shoulder to explain. “Madelyn’s gonna be around soon to walk you guys through the trivia section once we start, alright? She’ll let you guys know everything you need.”

You and Paige thank the club member and she offers you two one last smile as the two of you sit down next to each other. Paige’s hand finds your knee, almost subconsciously, and you try to find your dignity. It’s then that you notice the placecard in front of you – elegant script reading TEAM BUECKERS. With a quiet laugh, you nudge Paige’s elbow, drawing her attention to the paper. “‘Team Bueckers,’ huh?” you ask her teasingly. “You forget about me?”

“Never,” she swears. “I think they assign the names based on who registered. Trust me, I had a name lined up and everything. We were gonna be PB & Slay.”

You snort. “I’m Slay?”

“No,” she deadpans. “You’re PB. Keep up, please.”

“Of course,” you say obviously, like it’s definitely your fault. “I’ll do better next time.” She squeezes your knee under the table, smiling wryly at you.

Once everyone filters in, the girl who’d greeted you at the door makes her way to the front of the room, adjusting the microphone. She introduces herself as the president of the UConn, UMatter club, explaining some of their objectives and goals for the spring semester – you tune out a lot of it, which you’ll probably feel bad for later, but you weren’t here for the club recruitment. You were here for the pedicure that was calling your name this weekend. She makes it through the rest of her opening remarks, officially announcing the beginning of the first challenge: trivia. Several club members make their way to designated tables and a short, brunette girl takes a seat in front of you and Paige.

“Hey, guys,” she says, grinning widely and handing the both of you dry erase boards and a marker each. “I’m Madelyn. I’m gonna walk the two of you through today’s challenges. We’ll go back and forth – you answer one, then the other, so on and so forth. If your answers are the same, then you’ll get a point. Ready?” You and Paige hum affirmatively. “Alright. Question for Paige – when is your partner’s birthday?”

Paige huffs, her lips quirking into a smile as she uncaps her marker. “Light work,” she murmurs as she writes her answer down. “It’s a national holiday.” You roll your eyes as Madelyn laughs. Paige flips the dry erase board around, showcasing it to you and Madelyn, and you nod as Madelyn awards you both one point.

“Same question for you,” Madelyn says to you. “When is Paige’s birthday?”

You uncap your marker and write down your answer. October 20, 2001. “The world hasn’t known peace since,” you murmur under your breath, drawing laughter from Paige. You flip your board around and Paige nods smugly.

“Two for two,” Madelyn states. “Next question for Paige. What trait of yours is your partner’s favorite?”

You and Paige exchange a glance, her brow raising teasingly. She writes down her answer and you do the same, eventually flipping your boards over for the reveal. The two of you hadn’t exactly prepared well to answer this one, so you were hoping that you and Paige were on the same wavelength. You lean forward, glancing at her whiteboard, and smiling with relief when you see her answer: she likes my energy. Paige’s smile is smug, but there’s an underlying softness in her eyes. “Don’t laugh at me,” you huff, trying to explain. “You just — you have this way about you, like you’re kind, warm, you make people smile, and you always support them. You’re just genuinely good and, I don’t know, I really like that about you.”

Paige’s smile isn’t any less confident, although she seems a little bashful now, her cheeks tinging pink. “Three for three.” she says.

Madelyn tries to stifle her grin, but it’s clearly not working. “Next question is for you. When Paige is having a rough time, how do you help her relax?”

“With great difficulty,” you gripe, making Paige and Madelyn snort as you write your actual answer. By forcing her to chill the fuck out. You and Paige flip your boards, hers reading a much politer She makes me do nothing all day. Madelyn nods, awarding you the point, but you hardly pay her any mind as you meet Paige’s eyes. “You do too much,” you say, which makes her groan. “You overwork yourself and you microdose a burnout and I have to make you sit down and remember that you’re human.”

“You’re worse than me!” she points out.

You sniff. “This is about you,” you declare, “not me.” Paige rolls her eyes fondly, but she can’t help her laughter. 

“Next question,” Madelyn says, grinning. “Paige, what did you guys do on your first date?”

This was a question that the two of you had prepared for. You both decided that a little bit of the truth went a long way and the truth was that you and Paige had no shortage of quasi-dates that you could easily draw from. You tried not to think too hard about that as the two of you write down your answers. You turn your boards, revealing similar responses of ‘we went to her dorm and made dinner together after one of her games.’

You glance at Paige and she sighs. “Don’t start,” she pleads. 

“I’m actually a little invested now,” Madelyn chirps, which makes you grin and makes Paige bury her head in her hands. 

“All I’ll say is that Paige shouldn’t be in the kitchen without supervision but I really admire her, um, willingness to get creative,” you say kindly. Your best friend pinches your thigh under the table and you jerk back, laughing. Not wanting to embarrass her in front of a stranger, you leave it at that, although you smile at Paige like you’re the only two at the table. “I had a good time, though. She made it memorable.” She smiles back at you, something tender that has your heart constricting. 

The both of you knew the truth, though. Paige was not a good cook. She doesn’t make terrible food — dinner was delicious, but Paige is chaotic and an actual hazard. Watching her chop an onion hurt something deep inside you although she’d seemed so proud of herself. You didn’t have the heart to make fun of her. 

“Five for five,” Madelyn says, drawing your attention back to her. “Next question for you. Who confessed to who?”

You and Paige lock eyes again, a silent conversation passing between the two of you, and you write down her name. You turn your boards, Paige’s name written on the both of them and you smile to yourself. “She was pretty oblivious,” Paige says, referring to you, and your smile falls as your jaw hits the ground. “I dropped so many hints and she just didn’t pick up on them. I eventually got tired—”

“Desperate,” you cut in. 

“Tired,” she emphasizes, smirking at you, “so I planned out this huge romantic thing and at the end, she still didn’t understand so I told her straight up.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe you’re just not as slick as you think,” you tell her. 

“Nah,” Paige says. “I’m super romantical.”

“Sure,” you concede. 

Madelyn stifles her smile. “Alright. Two more questions for both of you. Paige, what is your partner’s pet peeve?”

“If you get this wrong,” you grumble, hearing Paige snicker as the two of you write down your answers. After you flip your boards, she grins proudly when your answers line up. 

“She hates not being taken seriously,” Paige recites. “She’s an English major. People always think it’s just easy or unimportant shit, like reading and writing papers, but she actually does a lot of interesting analysis and stuff that I never even considered. I’ll admit I was a little ignorant but she set me straight.”

“Wait, I didn’t know you thought that,” you say, honestly confused. 

She shrugs, a little bashful. “I talk a lot but I listen. Sometimes when you leave the room, I’ll read your paper just so I can ask better questions. You get all… glowy. And… I’on know. I like seeing you happy.”

You blink once at her, genuinely touched, and if you weren’t head over heels for Paige before then you definitely are now. She squeezes your knee again, her smile crooked yet tender. Damn it. You are hopeless. 

“That’s so sweet.” You’re a little shocked by Madelyn’s voice, but you clear your throat, refocusing. “Next one for you. What’s Paige’s least favorite season?”

“That’s easy,” you say, writing your answer down. Paige does the same. When you flip your boards, you glance at Paige’s, smiling wryly. “Paige hates spring. She has really bad allergies and all of the pollen is honestly a death sentence, so she’ll get all congested and sneezy and will spend a good two weeks bitching about it and how it makes her Jeep dirty.”

You glance at Paige, waiting for her to say something, but she just shrugs with a smug expression. “Last question for Paige,” Madelyn says. “What is something your partner does to show her love for you?”

Neither of you say anything, but Paige stares at you thoughtfully, another silent conversation passing between you. You don’t need to think about your answer as you write it down. On cue, you both flip your boards, Paige’s reading simply, She takes care of me. You can’t help the way your heart swells, a fond smile overtaking your face. “Before you, I wasn’t really the… you know, the receiver, I guess. Always in control, always expected to lead. You make me feel like I can just be me, which is really hard sometimes.” Paige laughs off the vulnerability, but you see right through it – the painful honesty.

“We’re equals,” you remind her, nudging her leg with your knee. “We take care of each other.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, her voice soft as she gazes at you. “I’m glad that we do.”

You spot Madelyn out of the corner of your eye, which sobers you up quickly. She smiles. “You guys are so cute,” she gushes. “Final question for you and we’re done with this round. What is Paige’s love language?”

You feel Paige’s stare on you as you write, but you don’t glance back at her. You can hear the scribble of her marker, her capping it. When you’re finished, you finally look at her, taking in the soft expression on her face, and despite yourself, a smile grows on your face too. Together, you turn your boards, your answers being the exact same once more — quality time and physical touch. “Ten for ten, baby,” you croon, raising your hand for her to smack her palm against.

“Great job!” Madelyn says. “Let me just go submit these scores and I’ll be back to walk you guys through the puzzle round after eliminations. Sit tight.” She offers the two of you a quick grin before she’s walking off.

“Ten for ten,” Paige repeats, nudging you a little. “We’re like that?”

“I guess we’re actually kinda good at this friends thing,” you retort, although part of you wishes you were anything but.

Paige’s subsequent grin is far too knowing, like she has a trick up her sleeve. “Maybe a little.”

You laugh a little under your breath, adjusting your dress and leaning back in your chair to get comfortable. Before you know it, the scores are officially in. You and Paige had a perfect one, so you weren’t all too worried about getting eliminated in the first round, but five unlucky couples ended up leaving. The two of you watched from afar, trying not to stare too hard at the retreating couples, although they made it hard. One girl walked out crying, gesturing wildly as her partner trailed behind her, a desperate expression on her face. Another one was pure anger, slamming the door behind her. You didn’t think that this club contest would get people so riled up, but you considered that it was probably the realization that your partner truly didn’t know anything about you. You just lucked out with Paige – she understood you.

Madelyn returns quickly and cuts straight to the point. She instructs you and Paige to stand up, handing the both of you a towel, and adjusts your arms until you’re holding the towels perpendicular to each other, almost intertwined. “The goal here is to separate from each other, but it can be tricky because the towels will tangle you up. We’re looking to see how fast you can solve this puzzle and how well the two of you work together. Are you guys ready?” You and Paige nod and Madelyn grins again. “Alright. You can start.”

Instantly, the room around you two is sheer pandemonium. The couples around you are moving quickly, trying to untangle themselves, but it’s clear that the panic is settling in. You and Paige exchange a glance, laughing to each other softly. “Game plan?” she asks you.

“We need to get these like…not perpendicular,” you offer helpfully, and Paige nods, adjusting her arms. The angle change makes your towels bunch up and twist at their centers.

“Spin around,” she instructs. You do as so, the towels untwisting around the middle. You pause to analyze your situation, trying to plan out the moves in your head as Paige does the same.

“Okay, bring your towel over my head and let me step through it.” After that move, the both of you glance down, taking in your situation.

Paige hums. “The rest is easy,” she says. You nod in agreement, a silent understanding passing between the two of you and you move in tandem, twisting and shifting and stepping up until you’re both finally separating from each other in record time, having completed the puzzle. “We’re like that?” she asks you again, her expression smug and satisfied in a way that’s only comparable to when she’s on the court and her lips are curling after sinking a contested three point shot.

“Dream team,” you remind her, letting the victory wash over you, clapping your hand against hers, although she doesn’t immediately release you, squeezing your hand with a proud smile.

“I don’t think I’ve actually seen anyone solve it that quickly,” Madelyn admits. “Or that calmly.” As soon as she says it, a commotion from the other side of the room draws your attention. There’s one couple that are twisted so unnaturally that it looks like they’re playing Twister, but it seems that the girl gets tired of the shenanigans because she drops her towel and storms out with a frustrated yell. “Case in point.”

You laugh and Madelyn walks away again to tally the points and make their final eliminations. Once everything is set, five couples remain out of the initial fifteen. After the last challenge, two couples will be eliminated once more and the remaining three will be given prizes in order of points. You and Paige were determined to finish strong – if the first two challenges were any indicator, you two had this in the bag. True to Paige’s word, the couples were being split up for the last challenge, and she offers you a competitive smile as Madelyn whisks her away.

You pass the time on your phone although Paige isn’t gone for long. However, what does shock you is the sudden bashfulness that’s clear as day on her features, like the last challenge had made her confess something important or she had to be vulnerable. You can’t help the sudden worry that seizes your body, but Paige rests a hand on your hip, squeezing you once with a confident smile. It couldn’t be that bad.

Madelyn leads you into an adjacent room where the president of the club is sitting at a table waiting for you. She smiles when you enter, motioning to the seat across from her, and it feels strangely like entering the principal’s office in elementary school, like you’re in trouble for something. The club president doesn’t spare any time for pleasantries and instead cuts right to the chase, something that you’re grateful for.

“I’m not gonna take up anymore of your time, but after seeing you and your partner perform so well in this contest, I only have two questions for you,” she explains. “This is our second year running this contest and no one has scored as high as you two have, which is kind of insane because the third round scores haven’t been added yet.” You smile politely, honestly unsure of what to say, but the club president continues. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“Going on three months,” you respond, thinking back to the timeline you and Paige had agreed on, hoping your voice doesn’t shake. You are a little surprised by how real your next words feel. “We were best friends for a really long time before then – we still are. Paige is just…that kind of person that makes you feel like you’ve spent forever with her, you know?”

The club president hums, agreeing. She pauses before glancing up at you, studying your features. “What’s something that you haven’t told your girlfriend, but you would want her to know?”

You hardly need the time to think about your answer, responding, “That I love her.” The club president’s expression softens, a smile growing on her face. “We haven’t, um, gotten there yet, but I mean it. I wanna make it perfect for her. She’s given so much to me in the short time we’ve been together and in the time we were friends. And she just…she means everything to me.”

She smiles. “I think you guys are perfect for each other.”

Despite yourself, you smile, a blush spreading across your cheeks. “I think so, too.”

After your solo questioning wraps up, you meet Paige at your table and you offer her a bashful grin, similar to the one she’d offered you when she returned. You don’t have the chance to say anything else to her as the final round of eliminations are being announced. You and Paige are spared, which doesn’t surprise you, and the two eliminated couples take their loss with dignity as they exit. Paige links her hand with yours – final three. In third place, Team Parker. In second…Team Hayes, which means that first place can only be –

“Team Bueckers.”

You and Paige relax immediately, high fiving each other in celebration. What you’re not fully expecting is the tight hug that Paige pulls you into, whispering a fond good job into your ear, although you can’t help the way you soften, sinking into her embrace. She leads you to the center of the room to collect your goodie basket. The various club members send you off with their congratulations, too, and you pretend to not notice the slick wink that Madelyn shoots you as you and Paige walk out.

The night air is cool, making you shiver slightly, and Paige doesn’t hesitate before she’s sliding off her blazer and settling it over your shoulders. You smile gently at her. “You won’t be cold?” you murmur.

“Nah,” she promises, nudging you. “I can handle it. You, though? I’on know.”

“That’s no way to treat someone who just won you these spa coupons,” you say, reaching into the gift basket to wave said coupons in the air. “C’mon, I clutched up, you can’t lie. And to think you wouldn’t have even had a partner for this if you didn’t rope me into it. I think we played our parts pretty well.”

Paige laughs gently, a tinkling sound that carries over the drag of the wind. “You still don’t get it, do you?” she asks, but there’s no true offense behind her words.

You stare at her in confusion. “Get what?” you respond.

“Do you remember that question Madelyn asked you earlier?” Paige says, her steps slowing, tilting her head down to look at you. The street lights reflect off of her face so beautifully, the blue of her eyes illuminated by the soft light. You can’t help the way your heart constricts at the sight. “‘Who confessed to who?’” You hum, urging her to go on. “You remember what I said? That you were oblivious and I dropped a lot of hints you didn’t pick up on?”

The gears in your brain spin for a few revolutions before everything clicks into place. “Oh my God,” you breathe out. “Are you–”

“Confessing?” she says, her lips quirking into a smile. “Yeah.”

“You dropped hints before?”

“So many,” she confirms.

“Oh my God,” you say again. You stop in your tracks, prompting her to do the same. The expression on her face is endlessly amused. “You planned a huge romantic thing – this?”

She shrugs. “The contest was the club’s shit, but yeah. I planned on asking you to come with me to this. I didn’t actually care about the prize, but the coupons are pretty sweet, right?”

You shake your head, ignoring her rambling. “You planned a huge romantic thing, but I still didn’t get it at the end, so you told me straight up,” you finish, partly in disbelief. “You think you’re so fucking slick, don’t you?” you accuse, which just makes her break out into laughter. “You literally sat next to me and told me exactly how you were going to ask me out and I didn’t know? And not only did you do that, but you were right about it?”

“I know you,” Paige says a little smugly. “And I told you that I could be romantical.”

“You are such a pain in my ass,” you whisper, but her arm is slinking around your waist, pulling you into her body as she grins insufferably, and you let yourself be pulled, your hands resting on her chest. “You are literally so annoying.”

Her nose brushes yours as she inches a little closer. “You know what they asked me in the final round?” she says, her voice loud enough for only you to hear. You nod. “They said, ‘What’s something you haven’t told your partner, but you’d like to?’”

“Funny,” you say. “They asked me the same thing.”

She smiles at you. “I told them I’d tell you that I love you,” she confesses.

Your cheeks burn as you register her words. “Funny,” you say again. “I told them the same thing.”

Her expression shifts, something like relief flashing in her eyes, something tender in her gaze. “Did you?”

“Well, I told them that’s what I would tell my girlfriend,” you trail off intentionally. “Seeing as I don’t currently have one of those…”

“Don’t play,” Paige murmurs, squeezing your hip gently, drawing a laugh from you. “Be mine?”

“You gonna share those coupons?”

Her eyes are bright when she responds. “I’on even care about them. Just want you.”

“You’ve got me.”

That promise is all she needs. She smiles at you, happiness in her features, and she doesn’t waste any time before she’s leaning in fully, her lips finding yours. You’re eagerly responding, melting into her as her arm tightens around your waist. You loop yours around her neck, standing on the tips of the toes for better leverage. Before you know it, her grin grows too wide and the two of you are laughing against each other’s lips, the sound of your love and giddiness the perfect way to end a perfect night. If you had Paige Bueckers and her annoyingly charming antics to look forward to, then one thing is for certain – you couldn’t wait to see what she had in store for Valentine’s Day next year.

[amethystarachnid]

So I saw a post on Pinterest and I thought it would be a good idea for a fanfic?im just gonna type it out and explain it after

Peter: im back from my trip i got you another magnet mr.white wolf

Bucky:cool stick it on

-

Tony: is that peters shopping list on your arm?

Bucky: yea

Tony: what the

-

Tony: Peter you need to stop using buckys arm as a fridge

Peter: Mr. White wolf said it helps him associate the arm with something other than murder

Tony: crying

So basically I was wondering if you could do this well not this interaction but like reader and Bucky are friends and reader is Peter? If that makes any sense?

STICKERS

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x teen!gn!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: platonic, fluff

ᯓ★ Word count: 2.5k (I'm so sorry if it's too short, hope you like it anyway)

ᯓ★ Summary: Bucky always lets you stick stickers to his vibranium arm but had never told you why...until now.

ᯓ★ I hope I understood the request well, and I tried to make the reader gender neutral since it wasn't specified in the ask, hope you like it <3

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The hum of the compound is familiar by now. Machines whir softly in the background, the faint scent of coffee lingers in the air, and somewhere in the distance, you can hear Sam and Tony bickering over something that probably doesn’t matter. This is home—at least, as close as it gets. It wasn’t always, but things changed. The world changed, and you had to change with it.

Being here is better than being out there. You know that much. The compound is safer. It’s structured. Sure, it’s a little weird living with a bunch of Avengers, but it beats the alternative. When SHIELD fell apart, a lot of things got messy, including your life. No family, no place to go, just a kid caught in the middle of something bigger than them. Steve found you first, said they’d figure something out, and now, somehow, you’ve ended up here. Officially, you’re under the Avengers’ protection. Unofficially, you’re the compound’s resident stray.

“Alright, what is it this time?”

Bucky’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you glance up from where you’ve been hunched over the kitchen counter, fidgeting with a fresh roll of stickers. He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking at you with an exasperated sort of fondness.

You grin. “You make it sound like I’ve done something bad.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘bad,’” you say, tearing off a small sticker shaped like a cat. Without hesitation, you reach out and press it to the cool vibranium of his forearm. It sticks perfectly, just like you knew it would.

Bucky sighs like a man who has known deep suffering. “Why do you keep doing this?”

“Because you let me,” you answer simply, peeling off another sticker—this one shaped like a tiny watermelon slice—and placing it beside the first.

It’s true. You started doing this months ago, fully expecting him to shut it down after the first few times. He never did. The first time, it had been a dumb impulse, something to break the tension. You’d been talking, and without really thinking about it, you’d stuck a star-shaped sticker onto his arm. He’d given you a long, unreadable look but hadn’t peeled it off. That was all the encouragement you needed.

Now, it’s a habit. Every time you see him, you add a new one. Sometimes, he’ll pretend not to notice. Other times, he’ll act put-upon, like he’s carrying some great burden. You know better, though. If he really hated it, he wouldn’t still be standing here, letting you decorate his arm like it’s an elementary school art project.

“I let you do a lot of things,” he mutters, watching as you place a little frog next to the watermelon.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite,” you say, grinning.

“Steve’s gonna be hurt,” he points out.

“Steve’s got enough fans,” you reply, reaching for another sticker. This one’s a smiley face with sunglasses. You stick it on his wrist.

Bucky glances down at his arm, then back at you. His expression softens—just a little. “Y’know, people used to be scared of me.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, adding a rainbow to his forearm, “they clearly weren’t looking hard enough. You’re a giant teddy bear.”

He scoffs, but there’s no real heat behind it. “A ‘teddy bear’ with a metal arm and a kill count.”

“Even teddy bears have claws,” you say, shrugging. “Besides, you let a teenager put stickers on you. That automatically lowers your intimidation factor.”

Bucky huffs but doesn’t argue. You know he won’t take them off. He never does, at least not right away. Sometimes, hours later, you’ll spot him across the compound, still wearing them.

That’s enough for you.

It doesn’t take long for the others to notice.

The first one to point it out is Sam.

You’re both sitting in the common room, Bucky on the couch, you curled up on the opposite end, sorting through a new pack of stickers you got from a store Tony let you raid on a supply run. They’re good ones, too—holographic, shimmery, some even glow in the dark. You’re in the process of carefully placing a tiny raccoon on Bucky’s wrist when Sam strolls in, eyes scanning the room before landing on the two of you.

His brows pull together. “Uh, what the hell is that?”

Bucky, who has clearly mastered the art of selective ignorance, doesn’t look up from his book. You, however, grin and wave. “What’s what?”

“That,” Sam says, pointing at Bucky’s arm like it personally offended him.

Bucky finally sighs, lowering his book just enough to glare over the top of it. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, man.”

Sam narrows his eyes and gestures again. “That. The stickers. What am I looking at?”

You lean back, admiring your work. By now, Bucky’s metal arm is covered in a vibrant mess of stickers—cartoon animals, little hearts, a glittery UFO, and even a miniature Avengers logo you’d snuck in just for fun.

You beam. “Art.”

Sam blinks. He looks at Bucky, then back at you, then back at Bucky. “And you’re just…letting them do this?”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah.”

Silence. Sam stares, mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. Eventually, he just lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Man, you really are getting soft.”

Bucky flips him off without looking up.

You take that as permission to add another sticker—a rainbow-colored star, right on his shoulder.

Sam shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before grabbing his drink from the fridge and heading out, still looking vaguely disturbed by what he just witnessed.

Of course, Sam being Sam, the moment he’s out of the room, you know he’s going to tell the others.

The next one to comment on it is Natasha.

You’re sitting at the kitchen counter, helping yourself to a bowl of cereal, when she walks in. She nods at you in greeting before grabbing a protein bar from the cabinet. It’s a normal morning, nothing out of the ordinary—until she glances at Bucky and does a double-take.

She tilts her head slightly. “Did you get in a fight with a Lisa Frank notebook?”

You nearly choke on your cereal.

Bucky, who is now used to this reaction, doesn’t even blink. “No.”

Natasha takes a bite of her protein bar, studying him. “Then why does your arm look like a kindergarten art project?”

Bucky doesn’t answer, so you take it upon yourself. “Because I put them there.”

Natasha arches an eyebrow. “And he let you?”

“Obviously,” you say, popping another spoonful of cereal into your mouth.

She’s quiet for a moment, her sharp gaze flicking from you to Bucky. You half-expect her to make a snarky comment or tease him, but instead, she just hums and says, “Huh.”

And then she reaches into her pocket, pulls out a tiny cat magnet, and sticks it to his forearm before walking away like nothing happened.

Bucky stares after her, brow furrowed. He lifts his arm slightly, looking at the magnet now clinging to the vibranium.

You snort. “You’re officially a walking fridge.”

He groans.

It only gets worse from there.

A few days later, Steve notices.

You’re in the gym, watching Bucky and Steve spar while pretending to be invested in a book. In reality, you’re mostly waiting for them to finish so you can rope Bucky into watching a movie with you.

Steve circles Bucky, eyes narrowed in concentration. He throws a punch, which Bucky easily dodges. There’s a beat of silence before Steve suddenly drops his stance, frowning.

“…Are those stickers?”

Bucky sighs. “Jesus Christ.”

Steve squints, stepping back to get a better look. “They are.” His frown deepens. “And…are those magnets?”

You bite back a laugh.

Bucky glares at you like this is somehow your fault (which, to be fair, it is).

Steve crosses his arms. “You’ve been walking around like this?”

“Yes.”

“And you just…let them do it?”

“Yes.”

Steve blinks, clearly struggling to process this information. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to reconcile the image of his best friend, ex-Winter Soldier, walking around covered in colorful stickers and fridge magnets.

Eventually, he just sighs. “You’re impossible.”

Bucky smirks. “Took you this long to figure that out?”

Steve shakes his head, clearly exasperated, but doesn’t push the subject further.

You take that as a win.

Tony’s reaction is arguably the best.

You’re in the lab with Bucky, keeping him company while Tony messes around with something that looks vaguely explosive. He’s in the middle of rambling about some new upgrade for Bucky’s arm when he abruptly stops mid-sentence.

His eyes narrow. “Hold on.”

Bucky tenses. “What?”

Tony steps closer, squinting at his arm. He lifts a finger and flicks one of the magnets, watching as it wobbles slightly before settling back into place.

“…Are you kidding me?”

Bucky groans. “Not you too.”

Tony bursts out laughing. “Oh, this is rich. You—you’ve been walking around like this? Just letting them stick things to you?”

“Yes,” Bucky says flatly.

Tony looks at you, still grinning. “You did this?”

You nod proudly. “Yep.”

He lets out an impressed whistle. “Wow. I gotta say, Barnes, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Are you done?”

Tony pretends to consider. “Nope.”

Bucky mutters something under his breath and turns to leave, but before he can make his escape, Tony suddenly grabs a Stark Industries magnet from his workbench and slaps it onto Bucky’s bicep with a satisfied smirk.

Bucky glares at him. “I hate you.”

Tony winks. “No, you don’t.”

You snicker as Bucky stomps out of the lab, now sporting a Stark-branded magnet.

Despite the teasing, Bucky never takes them off right away.

Sometimes, you’ll catch him absentmindedly running his fingers over a sticker while he’s reading or training. Other times, you’ll see him glance down at his arm, something soft and unreadable in his expression before he quickly schools his face back into neutrality.

You don’t push. You don’t have to.

He lets you do this because he knows it makes you happy. Because he knows it makes you feel safe.

And, maybe—just maybe—because he doesn’t mind it as much as he pretends to.

The stickers—and now magnets—become a daily ritual.

At this point, everyone in the compound has noticed. Clint, predictably, laughs himself half to death when he first sees Bucky with a sparkly unicorn sticker on his wrist. Thor, on the other hand, is completely unbothered. He takes one look, nods approvingly, and later gifts you a set of Asgardian insignia stickers that you immediately slap onto Bucky’s arm. Even Bruce, who usually keeps to himself, quietly asks if he can contribute and hands you a little atom-shaped magnet one afternoon.

Bucky grumbles about it, of course. He sighs dramatically when you press another sticker onto his arm, acts like it’s the greatest inconvenience in the world, but he never actually stops you. He never pulls away. He never tells you no.

And he never takes them off until he’s alone.

You start paying attention, watching him when he thinks no one else is looking. He’ll be in the middle of a conversation, his fingers absentmindedly brushing over the stickers on his forearm, tracing the edges. You notice that he doesn’t cover his arm as much anymore—not as often as he used to. Before, he wore long sleeves even in the middle of summer, like he couldn’t stand the sight of it. Now, he just lets it be.

That realization sits in the back of your mind for a long time.

Then, one day, you ask.

It’s late.

Most of the compound has already turned in for the night. The common room is quiet, dimly lit by the glow of the television, where some old black-and-white movie plays with the volume low. You’re curled up on the couch next to Bucky, a fresh pack of stickers in your lap.

You press a new one onto his arm—a tiny golden retriever wearing sunglasses—before hesitating.

“Hey, Buck?”

He glances down at you. “Yeah?”

You fidget slightly, turning the next sticker over in your hands. “…Why do you let me do this?”

Bucky blinks, like he wasn’t expecting that question. “Huh?”

You gesture vaguely to his arm, now covered in an assortment of colorful stickers and small magnets. “This. Why do you let me put them on you? You could’ve told me to stop. But you didn’t.”

For a moment, he’s quiet. His expression shifts—just a little—but you catch it. A flicker of something uncertain, something careful, like he’s picking his words before speaking.

Then, finally, he exhales.

“…Because it helps.”

You tilt your head. “Helps with what?”

Bucky glances down at his arm, his fingers skimming over the stickers.

“You know what this arm used to be,” he says, his voice quieter than before. “What it used to do.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

He swallows, his jaw tight. “For a long time, it felt like it didn’t belong to me. Like it was just…a weapon. A part of me that wasn’t really mine.” His fingers brush over the little cartoon raccoon you stuck near his wrist. “But then you started doing this. And…I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” you say immediately.

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Maybe not. But it’s…different, now. When I look at it.” He pauses, then shakes his head. “When I see the stickers, I don’t think about the things I’ve done. I think about you. About Sam rolling his eyes, Nat sneaking magnets onto me, Steve acting like he doesn’t get it even though he does.” His voice softens. “I think about now. Not then.”

You don’t know when your eyes started burning, but suddenly, it’s hard to see. You swallow thickly, trying to blink away the sting.

“Oh,” you say, and it comes out smaller than you meant it to.

Bucky glances at you, eyes sharp. “Hey. Don’t cry on me, kid.”

“I’m not,” you lie, furiously rubbing at your eyes. “It’s just—you just said something really nice, and my dumb emotions weren’t prepared for it.”

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Says the guy covered in stickers,” you sniff, but you’re smiling now, even if your throat is still tight.

Bucky shakes his head, rolling his eyes, but there’s something softer in his expression when he looks at you.

“…Thanks, kid.”

You look up at him. “For what?”

He gestures vaguely at his arm. “This. The stickers. Everything.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just grab another sticker and carefully press it onto the back of his hand.

Bucky glances down at it. It’s a tiny heart.

He smiles.

I'm so sorry if this it's too short I didnt know what else to add :(

[xiepheer]

If you're up for it, how about a headcanon of reader, shadow milk, and pure vanilla as a throuple? Feel free to go both SFW and NSFW if your mood is up

Truth and Deceit

Pure Vanilla cookie x reader x Shadow Milk cookie

Hello everyone! Honestly tysm for the likes in my previous post!

ANYWAYSSSS reader will be a fem here!

Hope yall enjoy this! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Also so sorry if this is bad 😭🙏

Dating the truth and deceit is crazy work.

Imagine just having a calm boyfriend and a boyfriend that wastes his time on shows, carnivals, puppets, etc.

That's exactly what it is.

Pure Vanilla cookie would most likely be the calm and collected one in your throuple.

Meanwhile Shadow Milk cookie would be the one who mostly be the chaotic one and the one who gets in trouble all the time.

And you have to handle all that.

Both truth and deceit loves you very much.

The truth would spend his time being with you, teaching you ways of Earthbread.

The deceit on the other hand, would let you watch with him as he manipulates cookies. Making them his puppets for his shows.

Pure Vanilla cookie would scold him whenever Shadow Milk cookie teaches you things like how to manipulate cookies.

But very often, Shadow Milk cookie wouldn't care about him and would continue doing so.

Why would he listen to him anyways.

These two had different jealousy.

For Pure Vanilla Cookie, it is simply just talking about it to you and how it made him feel slightly jealous and would politely ask for you to slightly distance from them a little.

For Shadow Milk cookie, he would NOT talk about it to you. He would manipulate the cookie using his strings to say mean things to you which can make you think they're actually being real at their words.

Then when you actually cried to them about it, both would comfort you.

But Pure Vanilla always suspects that it had something to do with Shadow Milk cookie.

Because of his slight smirk after you crying to them.

Pure Vanilla would talk to him about this but he most likely ignores him.

Both still love you very much.

No matter what, they love you and would do anything for you. (Pure Vanilla would do anything except for foul things like murder and robbery)

During events, Shadow Milk cookie would host the most incredible shows you would have ever seen and it's all for you.

Pure Vanilla cookie would make you a whole table full of delicious food for you, him, and of course, Shadow Milk cookie.

Since Shadow Milk cookie thinks giving you items and beautiful gifts make you happy,

So Shadow Milk cookie would give you the most beautiful jewels he could find all for you during Valentine's or birthdays or everyday.

Meanwhile, Pure Vanilla always gives you affection. The affection you wanted.

Shadow Milk cookie would also scare you sometimes which can end up to you crying or laughing. 50/50 chance.

And if you DID cry, Pure Vanilla would comfort you and scold Shadow Milk which ends up to Shadow Milk snuggling up to you at night as a apology.

Shadow Milk cookie is like an affectionate cat when it comes to cuddling. He would nuzzle to you or your chest and sleep there or on you.

Pure Vanilla cookie would lay on your lap and sleep there.

They would sometimes snuggle on both sides of you body if you're asleep by yourself.

Pure Vanilla cookie, the gentle ancient, hero, and lover

Shadow Milk cookie, the chaotic beast lover.

Though both don't usually get along, you managed to get them to get along overtime.

Both reminded you who you belong to. You belong to Them. Always.

So sorry if this is short! I'm trying!

Anyways Pls correct me if you need to, I dont mind! Have a great day! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

I hope you enjoyed this!

[pennyold]

teasing | r.c

Summary: Teasing your boyfriend during the dinner didn't end well... He wanted to have you ruined, begging for mercy.

Warnings: rough sex, dirty talk, suggestive content, choking, teasing, face slapping, spitting on the face, slight masochism (don't read it if you don't like it)

w.c: 1,6k

a/n: this is not a romantic shit, i just wanted a excuse to post again alr? So, I really wanted to write about this so bad, but I don't know if you guys are ready for my dirty mind ideas... so enjoy it, and I hope you like it!! And not proofreading, sorry for any grammatical mistakes!!

main masterlist ↲

peace and love, penny ★

All set, Rafe was waiting for me in the living room. I looked in the mirror and noticed the invisible straps connecting my panties to the black stockings. I turned around and went down the stairs. When I looked at Rafe, he smiled at me, hugged me, and kissed me on the cheek. "So precious, as always." He took my hand, leaving the house and walking towards the car. He opened the door for me, and as I sat down, my dress got caught. I looked at him, and he kept looking at me. "What a provocateur, darling." I smiled, and he slammed the door in my face.

During the trip, he wanted to put his hand on my thigh, but I didn't allow it; I just held his hand. "Let me," he said, "not now," I said, noticing how he was looking at me, smiling. "Please," I grabbed his jaw and kissed him. "Wait until we get home." He shook his head, looking at the road. "We could turn back." I shook my head, laughing. "No, we're going to have dinner and then home." I smiled at him, and Rafe focused on the road.

We were having dinner at Rafe's and my favorite restaurant, where we had some of our first dates when we met. Very cheesy, but it doesn't change the fact that he liked coming here frequently, and it had become my favorite place too.

"Do you like it?" he asked, pointing at my plate. I had ordered something different from the usual. I nodded, "It's very good, delicious," I said, smiling at him. I looked at his plate, and he had almost finished it. "You were very hungry, weren't you?" he nodded, wiping his mouth. "Yes." Besides, I want to go home, right? I slightly tilted my head, and he smiled, "I haven't stopped thinking about it." I knew what he was referring to, but I wanted to tease him a little. "What are you talking about?" I said, tempting him. "You know what I'm talking about." I shook my head, drinking from my glass. "Don't play with me," he said. I laughed, "I don't know what you're talking about." "About your..., you look beautiful," I nodded. "I know, you told me at the house." It seemed like I had thrown it back at him, and in a cruel way, but I just wanted to tease him. "I didn't mean to..." he raised his hand and asked the waiter for the bill. "We're leaving." I took the napkin from my lap and wiped myself.

"What's the rush?" he was drilling me with his gaze. I smiled at him and looked at the waiter when he stood next to the table. Rafe paid the bill, stood up almost knocking over the chair, and helped me get up. "I can do it myself," I challenged him. I was playing dirty, but I liked how he couldn't say a word. As we walked towards the car, I opened my door before he could. He didn't even look at me and returned to the driver's seat, started the car, and drove away.

I grabbed the doorknob. Rafe was driving at high speed, so I clenched my thighs and adjusted the seatbelt. "Rafe..." He didn't speak or look at me; he pressed the accelerator harder, and I could feel my body contracting against the seat. Finally, he slowed down, and we arrived home. When I unbuckled my seatbelt, Rafe opened the door and extended his hand for me to get out. I stayed in the seat fixing my lipstick and combing my hair, "Could you get out of the damn car?" I nodded, taking his hand, and walking to the house door, leaving him behind. I opened the house with my keys and left my bag in the dining room, and upon hearing the door slam and the front door lock, I knew I had crossed the line.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He spoke to me from behind, and I simply removed my heels and left them aside. "I don't know." I held back the smile and headed towards the kitchen. "Look at me," I ignored him, pouring myself a glass of water. When I turned around, he was right before me, with a serious expression. "You like to play dirty, don't you?" I remained serious and nodded. "And in public, what a slut." He grabbed my cheeks and jaw with one hand and tightened his grip, making me look at him. "This pretty girl wanted to tease me, ‘m I wrong?" I shook my head; he wasn’t wrong.

At this point, my panties were so wet, soaked. I couldn't even speak. I swallowed hard and squeezed my thighs, trying to lessen the throbbing of my clit. I let out a moan and opened my eyes wide; I messed up. Rafe smiled, "I know you're a dirty bitch who likes being called the whore that you are. Right, darling?” I nodded, holding my breath. I was going to moan again, but I held it back in my throat.

"This dirty bitch needs to be fixed, go to the room," he demanded, and I obeyed, walking barefoot, I picked up my heels and went upstairs.

I knew what was going to happen to me. Normally, I don't bother him like that; I just wanted to play a little this time. Now I had to serve my sentence.

Upon entering the room, I sat on the bed looking at the full-length mirror we had next to the bed and remembered the countless times I looked in the mirror and saw his reflection fucking me, which turned me on even more. I got startled when I heard the door slam again, and my skin prickled. Without looking at him, I looked in the mirror once more, then saw his reflection in it, "Are you reflecting on your actions?" I ignored him and tried to get out of bed, but he pulled me back down with a yank. "I didn't tell you to get up, so sit down.” I nodded and took the edge of my dress to pull it down, but he placed his hand over mine, pulling it away from the dress. "No... I want to see how you take it off."

I wore thick stockings and began to unfasten the straps that connected to my panties. I slowly took off the stockings, and when I lifted my leg a little, my folds parted, and I felt a familiar throb starting again. I bit my lip and continued with the other one, and when I finished, I remained motionless, waiting for him to speak. "The panties too.”

With my heart racing, I did it. I slowly took them off, leaving the fabric on the floor and closing my legs. "Are you wet?" he said, running his face along my neck, then licking it, leaving a wet sensation on it. I nodded, closing my eyes.

Then he slid the strap of the dress off my shoulder, kissing it. "Do you like it like this or rougher, huh?" I whined, squirming; Rafe grabbed my jaw, making me open my eyes and look at him through the mirror. "Are you going to keep that damn mouth shut all the time?" I was left breathless and then spoke: "Slut me out."

I should have thought of the other answer, but after all, I was enjoying it, damn it, of course i was.

He slapped me and then spat in my face. There was a puddle between my thighs, dripping my juices around his cock. "I'm crazy about you, so bad that I want to ruin you." He pushed his pelvis against my core, hitting my uterus. "Would you let me, darling?" I moaned, biting my lip. "Fuck... yeah" I barely manage to form a coherent word.

Rafe took my neck and squeezed it lightly, making me gasp."Squeeze harder," I said, breathless, and he did. He squeezed me but quickly let go, kissing my cheek. "You might be a little slut, but don't make me choke you again for pleasure," then he leaned closer to my ear, "Make me give that big ass of yours a slap, mmh." I turned around, rubbing my ass against his pelvis, brushing my folds against his still hard cock. "Do you want me to slap you while I fuck you? Is that what you want?" I nodded, looking at the pillows, then he thrust his cock into my pussy, stretching my walls once again.

I was a mess moaning, screaming into the pillow and squeezing his cock when he slapped my ass. I could feel my stomach tightening and my pussy contracting, "Shit, I'm going to cum" he slapped my ass hard and pushed my face sideways against the pillow "Whores like you aren't allowed to cum" I whimpered and squeezed his cock "Let me cum, please" he mocked my pathetic voice and fucked me faster "Beg for it" I grunted against the pillow without being able to utter a word, I was about to cum, I could feel my pussy getting hotter.

"Please, let me cum" he ran his hands down my spine to my waist, tightening his grip without stopping to thrust and pull out his cock. "Cum, cum on my cock, pretty" and I did, I reached my climax, covering Rafe's cock with my sticky cum "So sticky... wait until I cum" he kissed my cheek and caressed my cheekbone with his knuckles "I'm going to cum in this tight and lovely pussy. Ready for me and fill you up?"

[avianyuh]

Soulmates | Jeon Wonwoo

word count: 367

“I think you’re my soulmate.” He said, our fingers intertwined as we lay side by side on his bed. He had his circle framed glasses on and the light from the bedside lamp reflected off of his lenses. The blinds were drawn up, but all you could see was darkness outside.

Normally, soulmates are viewed as some cheesy concept. Something stupid you’d say when you’re a teenager. But why? Don’t we all want to meet someone that feels so perfect. Almost like that person was specifically made for you? 

I think back to all of the times we’d find ourselves saying the same things. Or he’d recommend a book to me that I had already read. 

The times I’d glance at him and know exactly what was on his mind. 

The way we communicate by squeezing each other’s hands to let the other know if we want to stay out or go home. 

All the times he’s gone for work. Weeks at a time where we don’t see each other. I know he'll come back but always find it hard to fall asleep during those times. Yet, in the midst of the chaos, he still always found the time to send a text to check in, or sneak away to call. He’ll ask if I’m okay and if I’ve been eating enough… And though I act annoyed, I secretly love that he cares. 

In response to his confession, I turn my body onto my side so I'm fully looking at him now. Our hands are still glued together. "Yeah" I smile. "I think you're my soulmate too." Eyes locked on his as I plant my lips on his own. His kisses are always so familiar, yet delicate.

So there I am, in my boyfriend's bed with his lips on mine and I know there will never be another moment in time like this. Another time where I feel as wanted and as safe as I do right now.

But that’s what a soulmate is, your better half. The one person in the entire world who completes you. Who puts your mind at ease. The one you will always find your way back to time and time again. 

{A/N: Happy Valentines babes. Sorry I haven't posted much but just as I anticipated, I've been busy with school. I wanted to write something romantic for V Day and i have no manz at the moment and was a little in my feels about that😓 But I love Wonwoo in his circle lenses so I found a way to mention those lmao. Also I started a Substack (literally signed up today) to write on so I have a place to post my non fanfic content/stories. I'll link that in my bio pretty soon if anyone would like to read anything over there (it's free) Just subscribing to be on the email list would really help me and since I have over 700 followers on here I thought it'd be worth a shot to mention it. But anyways, most likely by the end of the month, I'll have up DK as a boyfriend. If not the end of the month then early March. Okay, as always, I love you and mwahhhhh💋}

[durgeapologist]

Omg your blog is such a relief. Every day I feel more and more like I want to distance myself from about 80% of the Solavellan community bc I am telling you it is ROUGH being into the egg and wanting to talk about him but being surrounded by people who think that everyone and their mother is out to get them. Meanwhile someone can come up with valid criticisms about how Lavellan's characterization was handled in VG and get swarmed with unsolicited opinions about solrook shippers and accusations of misogyny. I also see them running around in posts that are clearly marked as "Critical" And half the time when I CAN talk to them about Solas it's like they aren't even talking about the same character I am? They want him to be some helpless little abuse victim who isn't responsible for anything he does??? Why are we redeeming him if he did nothing wrong? What would be the point? We love him because he's fucked up and a manipulative bastard but also complex???? Did we play the same game girlies???

i have been staring at this ask since it came in trying to find a normal way to respond to you anon i will be so fr rn so i am so sorry it's taken a few hours

i’ll start with this:

“Why are we redeeming him if he did nothing wrong?”

full stop. this. so much. (i am in love with you anon) why is there a atonement/redemption ending if he did nothing wrong? (you’re literally so real) solas has done horrendous things. like genuinely abhorrent. (i crave to be your friend so bad anon) he is a genocidal, serial killing, manipulative lying cunt. to say the least. AND THAT IS WHY I LOVE HIM. he has such complex characteristics that make him so intriguing. he wants to be a good person. but he doesn’t really know how to be genuine. he is riddled with guilt and regret. he feels BAD about the things he has done. but he doesn’t want to face his mistakes. he knows he has done absolutely terrible things in the name of his people and their liberation, things most of them never asked him to do. some even asked him to NOT DO THOSE THINGS. did he listen? of course not! this is solas we are talking about. arrogant, prideful, calculating solas.

“They want him to be some helpless little abusive victim who isn’t responsible for anything he does.”

yes. yep. THIS SO BAD. (genuinely let me be your friend pls i am on my knees begging) the dynamic between solythal gets convoluted by most solasmancers because of three things: misogyny, jealousy, and ignorance. was there abuse? yeah. not denying that. was there only abuse? no. mythal was a victim of abuse herself. the way she learned to love, she passed down to solas. BOTH were victims of abuse who did terrible, no good, awful things. BOTH were also extremely powerful, omnipotent, and power-hungry individuals. mythal's hunger for power showcased differently than solas' and was amplified (IMO) by elgar'nan whispering in her ear. solas had felassan to keep him in check.

i am of the UPMOST certainty that had solas not taken down the evanuris the way he did and went to sleep after creating the veil, he would have become another tyrant ruling over the elven people. (THE MASKED EMPIRE ANYONE? HELLO? HELLOOOOO?) also anyone who says she was his MOTHER or SISTER?? god please drown me. put me in a tub and hold my head under water. that was his PARTNER AND HIS LOVER. i cannot with the takes that she raised his ass COME ON. i have sooooo much more to say about this dynamic and the themes of abuse AND how solasmancers twist it to make her this most evil, vile, horrible woman; but i would like to keep some of my followers tbh (anon i am frothing at the mouth if you want to discuss this further i beg you to dm me) so we shall move on.

"...valid criticisms about how Lavellan's characterization was handled in VG..."

yeah full stop i will never forgive them for making her one personality type. sorry, i just won't. my lavellan egg-mancer was a strong-willed and angry proud dalish woman who told solas off every chance she could! i am genuinely so happy people who wanted the dynamic we got in VG got that, because that is how their lavellan is/was, but what about the lavs who punched him? who told him to stop being an asshole about elves, and just farmed approval for the romance by asking questions? i chose to hunt his ass down BECAUSE I WANTED TO HUNT HIS ASS DOWN! my lavellan would not be so understanding or forgiving, she just wouldn't, so it feels like my girl's personality was ripped away from her fr. now, i DO NOT agree with some of the takes on how she was presented because those criticisms are in fact riddled with misogyny and most are just downright vile. but i do agree with the criticisms that not all lavellans would have been so kind to that bald man.

so anon, TRUST me when i say i feel you so bad. i was in lots of solavellan spaces before i started shipping dreadrook, and even then i was looked at SO funny for my takes on the romance and called plenty of terrible things simply because i didn't hold solas up on this pedestal and make my lav worship the ground he walked on. even as a dreadrooker, the same exact takes that i couldn't get behind in solav spaces are very prevalent in dreadrook spaces. solasmancers have a tendency to simply agree with solas on everything and refuse to acknowledge how bad of a person he really can be.

i am a proud solasmancer AND a proud solas hater. #1 solas hater, in fact. i rarely have positive things to say about his actions and behaviors outside of a joke setting, and even in a joke setting the things people will say to defend him RUB ME SO BADLY THE WRONG WAY. also heavy on the perusing the "critical" tags and getting offended when my takes are, in fact, critical LMFAO. anon i am literally a beggar sitting on the side of the street waving a metal cup at you asking for coins of your affection rn. i have maybe one other friend who feels like this and have hardly anyone to rant about these things with. holding my hands out towards you and begging you to dm me fr. PLEASE. we can be critical together <3

[ask-nurse-curly]

as stated in the updated pinned post, we are diverging from the canon roleswap timeline starting nnnnnnnow :) ask boxes are open again!

[ Transcript under the cut ]

Hey Curly, I just wanted to check in with you. Things have been a little weird recently with this nearby satellite..

Are you doing okay?

Hey Captain!

Funny business, isn't it? I don't think we've ever had anything like this happen before.

It's okay, though. Sometimes I kind of want to follow Daisuke's example, but most people are nice.

What about you, everything alright on your end?

Me too, there's just so much going on at all times, haha.

Everything is mostly alright. I've got nice people, but some of them.. They're just getting under my skin. I should probably put the phone down.

How bad is it? My worst has been spam messages, mostly. Did you know the Halcyon colonies are reopening admission?

Makes you wonder why they need new people so soon after launch.

Oh yeah! I don't think I'm going to take their offer, I'm pretty content with Earth.

As for the messages.. I don't know. Some of them are just.. Mean, I guess. I don't want you to worry about it, I can handle it, it's just frustrating.

Have you gotten any fun messages though? I got one not that long ago asking about how I felt being a pilot, it was a nice question.

'Mean'? I'm sure you know that sounds worrisome. Are you okay?

Ah, I can't even remember all of them! There is this Martian scientist who gave me the scoop of planetary warfare amongst their kind, someone who is very intent on educating me about possums, and I even reconnected with someone from my med school years, that was pretty wild. Also someone from an actual gunship patched into our frequency, apparently their surname is the same as yours? Do you know a Hideo?

I'm really fine, if I couldn't handle a few weirdos, I wouldn't be on this ship lol

But.. That's very interesting. I don't know if I have any familiar faces on my end, so consider me jealous of you. I can't say that I know a Hideo? Should I?

Now who are you calling a weirdo? :-)

I don't know if you should! If it's a coincidence then certainly an amusing one, guess Musumes are just made to be captains. :-)

Maybe so.. I'll have to start a club then, Captain Musume club.

And I would NEVER call you a weirdo, Nurse Curly, never ever......

Uh huh. I believe you.

:-)

What is weird is just...how much some of these people seem to know. I wonder if our phones were hacked into somehow? Do you think I should be worried about my Meeboo subscription at this rate?

I feel like I should be more shocked but with how much of our data gets sold off and leaked on a daily basis, I can't find myself to be horrified.

You should definitely worry about your Meeboo subscription though.

...Fair point.

Well, if my streaming services are what takes the brunt of exposure, I suppose I could live with that.

Do you think that's how they found out about your nurses calendar? If that's even a real thing.. Did you ever model for a nursing calendar? Lol

Haha!

No, god no. I could never. Can you imagine me in a pin-up calendar? That would be bonkers.

No, I was just joking. I guess the very nature of their, uh, request was too much for my English sensibilities, so I turned to my trusty defence mechanism honed by generations of haughty stuck-ups.

...How did you know about that?

Well we certainly love a modest king..

I was told about it by one of the messages I got, I didn't know if it was true or not but I guess my curiosity was piqued. Sorry, it was inappropriate to ask.

Oh god, are they still harassing you about me? I'm so sorry.

They are strangely...invested.

I hope it's not too much of a bother. And I doubly hope they cease soon.

I don't mind too terribly, I just feel bad talking about you when you're unaware. I certainly try to keep my answers vague so that I can maintain your privacy.

Truly, I don't know if I should be offended or relieved they ask me more about you than they do myself, haha!

I'd go for relieved! Or perhaps even flattered. They seem to think highly of your captaining skills. :-)

They do! I'm not sure how they know about THAT information, but I'll take what I can get!

I can't say i blame them, it's pretty obvious!

I mean

Crew ratings should be public access, right? Based on delivery reviews and stuff. Or could be if they weren't and got leaked too.

I definitely don't doubt that...

I don't know, they seem fairly invested in my love life as well. Which goes beyond the scope of simple work appraisal. I've been asked if I'm single, who my type is. I felt like I was filling out a dating application lol

Haha, funny that

You could lean into that too, if you wanted to, let them do all the legwork. It's worse than the Wild West on those apps sometimes.

I'm not trying to find someone through texting strangers, besides, it seems they already have my ideal love interest picked out for me. They're trying to cause trouble is what they're doing.

And how do you even know what those apps are like? Isn't that like.. Cheating for you?

Oh shoot. Er

It would be! It totally would be if. If I were still in a relationship.

Which I'm not. For the record.

In any case, not that I prowl those apps much, it's not really uh, worth it for me.

What? Since when are you not??

You were just talking about Marie before we took off. Unless.. Did you break up when we got service...?

Yeah, haha, turns out it's not always great when familiar faces text you, right?

But yeah, she... It's not easy, I guess, dating someone who isn't there for half a year at a time at least, you know?

It was kind of a long time coming, so. She just was the braver one out of the two of us to cut the cord.

Sorry, didn't mean to be a downer. It really is okay though. We're good, and. I think I've kind of went through the stages of grief back when we were still earthside.

So. Not a big deal.

I'm so sorry, Curly :( I wish you would've told me. I'm still here if you need to talk, okay? Breaking up sucks, even if you see it coming.

Oh no, I promise it's okay! It really, really is

I'm okay, it's not a big deal.

I mean, it would be, it

But it's not like

I didn't really

She maybe...didn't really...exist?

Curly what are you saying right now

I am a fool is what I'm saying :-(

I'm so sorry.

Any chance we could pretend I never said anything?

How are we supposed to do that? I don't even know what to say.

Why would you lie about that?

...Could we talk?

I mean, in person.

I'll explain everything, just

I'm afraid of how much of this might get exposed.

Please.

Yeah

Are you in the medbay? I'm on my way.

Yes.

Thank you.

[hh-jackie]

Captain America: New World Order (2025) - Review ???

So... I watched a Marvel Cinematic Universe movie in theatre on release day in the year of our lord 2025. Unbelievable.

I grew up watching the MCU. For the longest time, my whole entire being was defined by my love for the MCU and its characters. My dad was the one to show me Iron Man (2008) when I was a kid. Captain America: The First Avenger (2011) has a pretty special place in my relationship with my boyfriend. I met my best friend because of our shared love for The Avengers (2012). I remember bringing a teddy bear with its paw wrapped up in tinfoil to watch Captain America: Civil War (2016) in the theatre. I watched Avengers: Endgame (2019) alone, in a strange town, during my first year of university.

And then, I stopped. With all of my heroes dead or retired, I mourned the end of an era in my life. I didn't care enough to watch any of the following movies or most of the shows. I only watched Hawkeye (2021), because I've always been a Hawkeye kinnie, and The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2021), because Sam and Bucky were pretty much the only characters whose stories I still wanted to follow. I was somewhat aware of the events that took place in the MCU as a whole, because I still existed in various fandom spaces.

So, because I love Sam Wilson, on Valentine's Day 2025, I went to see Captain America: New World Order.

To put it briefly, I loved it.

The following review(-ish?) is my opinion.

*SPOILERS AHEAD*

I did NOT expect to enjoy this movie this much. I'd been disconnected from the MCU and the fandom for years now. I am perfectly aware that I was missing some of the deeper context for this movie. That didn't ruin it for me.

Captain America: New World Order was so fun!

Before I say anything more, I have to say that I loved Bucky's appearance, no matter how brief (Sebastian Stan, you liar <3). I love Sam. I love that he's strong and capable but that he's also aware that he's not a super soldier and has his weaknesses. He's human, and he want's to do right by everyone. And man, do I love Joaquin. I genuinely cried when he got injured. He was such a joyful addition to the movie, and his dynamic with Sam is incredibly enjoyable.

Also, if I had a penny for every time I watched Danny Ramirez fly next to F-18s in a movie, I would have two pennies, which isn't a lot, but it's funny that it happened twice in a relatively quick succession.

The main gripe I have with this movie is Sam's plot armour (and his indestructible magic suit). I'm glad that he wasn't seriously injured, but next to some pretty fantastical concepts, Sam's immunity to being punched and stabbed, and having his skull crushed, is crossing the line of suspended disbelief just a little bit. Same goes for the completely indestructible, magical, wings capable of slicing fighter jet wings without having it affect Sam in any way.

Sam and Joaquin prevent a world war, save the new president of the United States, and come out mostly unscathed from events that should've killed them. Sam learns that he's enough. Joaquin learns that he's enough. They live happily ever after.

Future Congressman James Buchanan Barnes? Sorry, I don't buy it. But eh, I'll take it, especially since it meant seeing Bucky dressed sharp.

The new "ex-widow" is likeable.

The movie draws from plot lines long forgotten by the MCU, but it doesn't feel clunky or forced. It brings back some old characters, but their presence makes sense.

*END OF SPOILERS*

Anyway, I'm writing this whole post just to say that I love Sam. I love Joaquin. I can't wait to see more of them in the future.

And if anyone here role-plays as any of the characters that appear in this movie, hit me up?

[gnawingonleonsbicep]

I Don’t Want to Fall in Love

Leon Kennedy x gn!reader. Post RE4/R, written with RE4R Leon in mind, however either version works.

Angst. Hurt/no comfort? No use of y/n or [name]. Reader is referred to as “sweetheart”. Reader is a barista. Leon lives in an apartment idk. More tags in the tags. Sorry this is my first time actually posting a full fic.

WC: 2.7k

❝ Right face, wrong time, she's sweet

(But I don't wanna fall in love)

Too late, so deep, better run cause

(I don't wanna fall in love)

Can't sleep, can't eat, can't think straight

(I don't wanna) ❞

Between making sure he was in peak condition after the events of his Spain mission, particularly regarding the brief period he was infected with the plaga, Leon found himself with a surprising amount of free time between his assignments. During the free period, Leon found himself frequenting a quaint café near his apartment. Perhaps it was the coffee that drew him in. Or the soothing environment. Or the cute barista he happens to run into every time he visits. Too bad doesn’t want to fall in love.

Leon didn’t have much luck with relationships. Had a couple girlfriends before Raccoon City, none after. It wasn't like he had much time to get into the dating scene either; between his nonexistent work-life balance and the baggage he carried, he swiftly accepted the fact that a relationship must’ve simply just been out of the cards for him.

He didn’t lament on that fact; some things were just out of his control. No use in fighting it. He accepted that a long time ago. Hell, he didn’t even think he could manage a relationship anymore. Sure, the company would be nice, but he can’t stay in one place for too long. You’d think he’d enjoy the breaks whenever he got them, and you’d be right. As long as they don’t go on for too long. He’s gotten accustomed to the busy schedule, can’t help but get antsy whenever he goes long without an assignment, always feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Still, he can’t deny it gets “a little” lonely in his apartment. It’s dreary and desolate; from an outside perspective, one would easily assume it was vacant. Minus the bare minimum furnishings — a bed, a cheap couch he found, and a little TV he got for the occasions he is home — there wasn’t much in his apartment. None of it really got much use, though. More times than not, he’d end up passed out on the couch when he returned from an assignment.

Perhaps you could say his home was a representation of himself: dull and empty. Missing that spark of life. Missing what made it a home. He never put much thought into it, though. His main concern was being in an okay enough condition to complete whatever task he was given. Maybe he’ll do a good enough job that he’ll retire early and go back to a semi-regular life!

The thought was nice, if not based in naïveté. Something he’d think about while he tried to sleep. Maybe one day he’d be able to retire. Settle down and give someone a better life than he had. Wishful thinking and all.

During his time living in the area, especially with the surprising amount of free time he’s had, his routine grew to include a local café near his apartment complex. Perhaps it was the novelty of the quiet, quaint building, of a secondary location to unwind outside of his bleak apartment.

It also helped that there was a particularly cute barista there.. But you didn’t hear that from him.

That was how he met you. It was pure coincidence; your shifts happened to align with the days he’d show up. Some may call it fate; he more accurately calls it regularly visiting an establishment. Whatever attraction he might’ve felt had no play in it. Even if he happened to memorize your shifts. And that you were his favorite.

….

God, he sounded like a creep.

It wasn’t like that, though. He was just vigilant. He’d gotten used to being aware of his surroundings. He couldn’t help it. Besides, he didn’t memorize only your schedule. He knew that Aaron and Eliza worked Mondays and Thursdays, Carol opened on Sundays, and that Mac worked on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Just to name a few.

He’d like to say he planned this. That he knew his feelings of attraction would grow into something more. But he couldn’t lie to himself. Or you. While it started as a simple infatuation, an attraction to how he perceived you, he knew it wasn’t love.

Until you began starting up conversations with him whenever you had the opportunity. It was small talk at first, asking him about his day, exchanging small pleasantries, occasionally making a comment on his attire; surface-level interactions while you took his order. Stuff you did with every customer. You were just being polite; he knew that. He wasn’t going to look into it and convince himself otherwise.

Then the conversations slowly grew longer. But that meant nothing. And it meant nothing when you started spending your breaks with him or when you made his order in advance because you knew when he’d arrive. And the cute notes you left didn’t mean anything. No, they definitely meant nothing. And you certainly meant nothing when you asked to have lunch with him on your day off. Nope. Meant nothing. Not like it was a date, right?

At least that’s what he told himself. Until you offhandedly mentioned that it was the best date you had in a while. But that meant nothing, right? Right?

He knew he was a goner the moment the date lunch had ended.

One date turned into another, and then another, and then another.. You even came over to his shitty charming little apartment (your words, not his.) for a horror-filled movie night (the horror movies were your idea). Leon wasn’t much of a fan of horror after experiencing a horror movie in his own life, though it was a little hard to be on edge after Raccoon City and Spain. Hard beat an actual “zombie apocalypse” and being infected with a parasite that nearly turned him into yet another mindless puppet of Saddler’s.)

If Leon already knew he was a goner by the end of your first date, it was really solidified when you were practically curled up and hiding in his chest for an hour and a half. On one hand, it was a little awkward considering Leon was rather.. touch deprived. It was far more physical interaction than he had been used to for a while. At least, in a sweeter, more intimate manner. On the other, the feeling of you clinging to him like a lifeline whenever the movie got a little too scary for you made him feel a sense of bliss. Like it was a taste of what could’ve been, what he could have. With you. He almost wondered how it would’ve gone if Raccoon had never happened. Then again, he probably would’ve never met you if things had gone differently.

While he silently relished in the feeling, it left him with a pit in his stomach after you left. He had trouble falling asleep that night. It wouldn’t have been too unusual.. If he hadn’t been thinking about you.

His thoughts raced, going over how poorly it could all end if you ever made it official. And how poorly it could end if you didn’t make it official. He was between a rock and a hard place; if he “set things straight” and bluntly said he “wasn’t” interested in a relationship, he wouldn’t be dragging you into whatever the hell he had going on.

However, he’d constantly beat himself up with the “what if”s if he missed this opportunity. An opportunity for something more in his personal life, something that could be what ignites that spark. A rock and a hard place.

He didn’t have much of an appetite, going throughout his day in a daze. He was in an inner conflict. He was sure he could see himself spending his life with you, at least a portion of it. For as long as you’d have him. But was he right for you? Was he really a good match for you? Could he provide you what you needed?

Sure, he was physically attractive, he couldn’t deny that. But could you really love what’s underneath that? Would you still love him if you knew the damaged man he was beneath his awkward charm and handsome features? Would you still love him if you delved deep, if you truly got to know him so intimately? If you broke down his walls and bared his soul to you?

And you were such a sweet, sensitive thing. Would you really be able to handle the time spent apart when he’s off doing who knows what for the government? Would you be able to handle him coming home bloodied and bruised after a particularly rough assignment? He was sure you’d tend to his wounds, cleaning and dressing them with such a tender hand, as if he was nothing more than a delicate flower. But could you really handle it? Could he handle the guilt that’d eat at him? Could he handle dragging someone so soft into his muddled world? Defiling your simple, picturesque life with his life of disarray?

Was it selfish of him to yearn for that? To yearn for someone to care for his worn-down body, to take him into their arms and rebuild him, over and over again, as long as it takes? For a sense of normality?

Leon was ashamed to admit that he started avoiding you. It made him feel weak, juvenile. The Leon S. Kennedy: survivor of the Raccoon City incident, the man that rescued the president’s daughter with rather minimal help, avoiding a civilian working a kid as a barista at the local café, because of what, a schoolboy crush? Because he couldn’t handle his own feelings? God, he must’ve sounded pathetic.

You must’ve noticed something was off after he hadn’t shown up for the umpteenth time in a row. Maybe he was sick? What if he got hurt? You couldn’t help but worry; you did like him after all. You liked him a lot. It felt safe to say that you might even love him. Sure, you didn’t know every little detail of his life, but you didn’t need to immediately. That was something you could learn eventually, on his own time.

That was what led you to show up at his apartment with a cute little care package. Always such a sweetheart. After being drawn out of his thoughts. It was odd; he wasn’t expecting any company. It wasn’t like he really got any. Maybe it was Claire stopping by to drop something off? She was sweet like that. Sure, they weren’t able to keep in contact as much as he’d like, but they tried to make some time whenever they got the chance. Still, usually she’d give him a heads-up before she stopped by.

It barely crossed his mind that you’d be at his front door. He could nearly feel his heart ache at the sight of you, the way you nervously shifted from side to side, biting the inside of your cheek.

Oh, and the care package, filled with small, homemade goodies and topped off with a cream-colored stuffed bear, a little blue ribbon around its neck. It was so painfully you. After he got over his momentary shock, he quickly ushered you in with a quick “Come in, come in,” and a “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Glancing around his apartment, he mentally beat himself up for the mess. Well, as messy as his empty apartment could get.

“Sorry, I wasn’t.. expecting anyone,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he glanced off to the side. It was silent for a moment, the both of you standing there; you staring at him, him avoiding your gaze. Maybe that was a way to describe your dynamic. You, looking at him with such adoration, with such love. Piercing through him in a way that was equally comforting and terrifying while he hid away from it, avoiding it as though it were the plague. It made him feel vulnerable, like you could see through him, see through the tears in his carefully crafted veil. He couldn’t tell if he loved it or hated it.

“Do you—”

“I was just—”

.

..

Silence.

It was clear you had something you wanted to say, though you refrained. Whether it was so you could simply formulate your thoughts or to avoid cutting him off again was up for debate. Perhaps it was both; perhaps it was neither.

After a few short moments, though they seemed to drag on for far longer than they actually did, you finally broke that silence between the both of you.

“I was just..” you paused for a moment, glancing down at the stuffed bear. “..I was worried when you didn’t show up. Thought you might’ve been sick or something,” glancing back up at him, a small smile graced your features, a hint of embarrassment tainting the expression, “But now that I’m here, I feel kind of silly.. Since, y’know, you seem fine and all.”

You were worried about him?

A pang of guilt grew within him. If he had made you worry enough to come pay him a visit when he was just behaving childishly, how would you react when he was out on a mission? Or when he returns bruised and beaten, wounds that are surely bound to become another scar littering his body?

It only further solidified his opinion. He couldn’t drag you into his life; he couldn’t put you through that. He needed to end things with you, to put a stop to whatever was growing between the both of you. Sure, he’d regret it. Why wouldn’t he regret it? But he couldn’t be selfish. You deserved better. You deserve someone that could be there for you, someone who you wouldn’t have to share with the government for as long as your relationship lasts. He couldn’t hold you back. Besides, it’s not like it’d be the first thing he regrets.

“Yeah..” he muttered, furrowing his brow as a sigh left him. “Listen.. I like you, I really do, but..” he paused, internally wincing at the way your face dropped, guilt piercing through him. “..I don’t think this is going to work out. I’m sorry.”

“..what.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look up at you. He was sure he’d crumble the moment you did. He felt like such an asshole, but this was for the better, right?

Right?

“My job– it’s.. Very demanding, and,” oh, it was more than just demanding. But he couldn’t tell you what he did. It’d only make you worry more. “..the hours are long, and I wouldn’t.. be there.. that much,” he knew he was being vague, but how could he casually explain what he did for work? That he’d be gone for days, weeks, hell, maybe even years? All because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time?

He didn’t need to drag you into his shit. He didn’t need to put your safety at risk due to his own selfish desires.

“But– but we could work through that. It won’t be a problem, I promise.” Oh, you were just too sweet. Too kind for your own good. He was over here breaking your poor little heart, and you were still willing to compromise with him.

“Sweetheart,” his voice was so soft, so gentle. Even when he was being the cruelest he’s ever been to you, he still spoke to you with such care.

“Please, Leon. Please. We could make it work. I know we could, if you gave us a chance,” Oh, there you go, breaking his heart. And he thought he was the cruel one. He was, and yet, he couldn’t ignore the way his eyes stung or the way his throat closed up.

“Sweetheart,” he paused, taking in a sharp breath; even as his voice wavered ever so slightly, he remained composed. He made his bed, and he was going to lie in it. It was his choice; he was the one breaking your heart, so what right did he have to cry in this very moment?”

“Please, Leon..”

“I think it would be best if you left.”

He knew he was going to regret that choice. He already had many regrets in life; what more was another?

After leaning against the now-closed door for a moment after your departure, he reluctantly pulled himself from it, only to bump into something on the floor.

That was odd. While he had some clutter about, he didn’t have anything out of line in the entrance..

Oh.

It was the stuffed bear. The one you brought him. It must’ve fallen while you were leaving.

Bending down to grab it, he held it in his hands for a moment, simply observing it. A memento for the occasion, perhaps. A physical reminder of the “what if”s he’d no doubt ruminate on.

God, he was going to regret this.

[softxsuki]

Hi! May I request a Valentine's letter from Gojo Satoru, Jujutsu Kaisen, for a fem!platonic reader? The reader is a civilian. I would prefer if he addressed the reader as "my friend" instead of using her name. I want the letter to be bittersweet and angsty, sort of like him saying goodbye and apologize for not getting in touch with her for so long (cause, well, he was sealed, so) . I imagine he wrote the letter after he got unsealed and before fought Sukuna because he lowkey hinted at the fact that he knew he was going to die. Well, yeah, something like that.

Please and thank you in advance 🫶

Goodbye Letter from Gojo to His Friend

This event is now CLOSED, but you can view the masterlist for the other letters here.

| Pairing: Gojo x Fem!Reader (platonic) | Genre: Just devastation really| Post-Type: Letter | Word Count: 640 |

Warnings: heart wrenching angst, spoilers for people who aren’t caught up to the manga! Bad ending …

Note: I’m seeing a trend where you all want me to cry and suffer while writing these…who hurt you guys this year 😭

You sigh, checking your phone for what felt like the millionth time.

Did you do something wrong? Was he okay? It had been over a month since you last heard from Gojo, and you couldn’t help but worry. He had let you in on the world he lived in; the reality of curses and sorcerers and the like–but it had answered so many unanswered questions you had about things. He was someone who kept you safe, made you laugh, and who you could trust with your life.

The strongest. That’s what he had called himself…so he had to be fine. Right?

What went wrong? Where was he? Why hadn’t he reached out to you?

You get up and decide to check the mail, better get moving to distract your mind than rot with these haunting thoughts. You open your door and collect the contents of your mailbox, closing the door and throwing yourself back on your couch.

Bills, bills, student loans, bills, spam…and a letter from…Gojo?

Your heart stops and you sit up a little straighter, discarding the other envelopes to the other side of the couch, quickly opening the letter;

My Precious Friend,

I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark for so long. Did you miss me? It’s moments like these where I can’t help but think of you. You’re doing well aren’t you? Perhaps writing this is a bit selfish of me…but I felt guilty just disappearing on you. I wish I could get the chance to tell you what happened in person…but let's just say I was stuck somewhere for a bit and just finally got free. 

By now, my fate is probably already sealed. As I write this, I’m off to face my greatest challenge yet. A challenge I felt confident about facing before, but things are complicated now. You’ve been a dear friend to me, you tolerated my dramatics and laughed with me, listening to me moan on and on about those damn elders…so thank you for being a better friend than I could have ever asked for.

I guess I wrote this to you to help you move on? As much as I’d like to keep my friend all to myself…If I haven’t shown up at your door by now, then it probably means I can’t…Am i spilling too much about this to you? Maybe, but I need you to know. 

Don’t wait for me anymore.

I hope only for your safety and happiness, that’s all. My friend…my lovely, wonderful friend. One of the few who have been a true friend to me, please stay well.

This is goodbye, until we meet again one day, hopefully.

Love, 

Satoru :3 

You couldn’t control the sobs escaping your lips. What happened to being the strongest? He was supposed to be undefeatable? Why?? Why had he left you all alone?

It was obvious that he was gone from this world. He should have been back by now if he was okay, smiling at you and teasing you like he always did.

Would you ever learn the truth behind why he left? Why he was gone? Would you never see him again?

Your heart felt empty. Your anxieties for the past few weeks had all been accurate in worrying. You should have left to look for him yourself…but then what? You were a normal human, no cursed energy, no super strength, nothing…Why couldn’t you do more for your friend who had done so much for you?

“Goodbye Satoru,” you choke out, hot tears running down your face. A small part of you couldn’t help but hope that one day you’d see him again. Whether it be in this life, in the next life, or in the afterlife, he was your friend. Yours. And no one would replace the mark that he left in your life.

Posted: 2/14/2025

[munsster]

hey girl!! so i was rewatching season 3 and saw the part where max and eleven are playing the spin the bottle and spying on people and had an idea! what if the reader is babysitting them and the girls drag her in to play and they spin in on steve, so she’s like “alright that’s enough” bc she doesn’t want to invade on her friends privacy but she sits through it anyway, and she hears him talking to robin about how much he likes her and wants to ask her out. IDK i thought that was cute :))

don’t hate the game

A/N: UR SO RIGHT THIS IS SO CUTE. I’m so glad i FINALLYYY found motivation to tackle it <3 (gif creds: @buckysbarnes)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: The girls convince you to play an embarrassing party game from your past. It’s nothing like you remember. 2.4k words

Warnings: pet names (sweetheart, honey), ‘like’, overthinking, implied bullying, stupid pining, insecurity

It's a Friday night in the middle of summer, and you're wondering how you got here. Well, actually you're in your living room, so it's not that great of a mystery, but more confusing than that, you're letting two adolescent girls teach you how to play spin the bottle. If someone had told you at graduation that this is where you'd end up, you'd laugh right in their face.

Who's laughing now.

"But!" Max says, "if you hadn't noticed, none of these people are in the room, so how would we kiss them?"

You fight the urge to sink into your seat, blithely nodding and avoiding anything that might alienate you from your younger counterparts. You're almost sorry you surrendered your night to babysit two capable teens, but you promised El's dad who promised to pay you handsomely. Plus, they seem to like you enough to find you cool. Enough to tell you teenage secrets and complain about their boyfriends.

As they're explaining the rules, a memory creeps in of the first time you ever played this godforsaken party game. On Steve Harrington's floor in eighth grade. The cheers dying off as the mouth of the bottle slowed to a stop in your direction. No one expected him to actually lean over and kiss you. Or that you'd stay good friends despite his high school career soaring into stardom while yours sort of... didn't.

"We don't kiss them!" El chirps with an excited glint in her eye. The girls lean in like it's the first time they're hearing the rules but you're almost certain they made them up.

"Right. Instead, El here becomes our spy. I'm not exactly sure how it works, but she can see into their conversations or something. It's wicked." Max looks to El with something like admiration.

Intrigued, you glance down at the post-it notes arranged in a circle, scribbled with assorted names from yearbooks and yellow pages. A few you recognize: Mike and Lucas, one of the Hawkins Middle math teachers, even Will’s mom wasn’t safe from their antics.

But among the many names, you're most drawn to Steve. The way the letters loop and curl into his name, you go a little dizzy imagining that you really were playing the game. That he was seated across from you now. That he might lean over like he did the first time while your mind raced with a thousand possibilities. It's a prank or a dare or his wholehearted commitment to the game, anything other than his own free will.

You blink out of your silly, nostalgia-fueled trance when Max presses the cold glass bottle to your palm.

"You first."

They giggle and fall into each other when you half-twist the bottle. You're still in disbelief that you agreed to this as you watch the bottle spin, ticking off names as it loses momentum.

"Who is that?" you ask, leaning closer as if you'd read the yellow post-it wrong.

"Oh," El says. She cringes away from the board and crosses her arms over her chest in defiance.

"That bitch from P.E.," Max grumbles, and you have half a mind to scold her if you hand’t found universal bitch-aversion endlessly amusing. "You can spin again, she's not worth the trouble anyway."

You imagine your dream game once again. The bottle flies in the other direction at your fingertips, haywire and picking up a new gravity. It draws a wild, fiery line beneath your stare as you consider the possibility of Steve. It slows and slows until it's spinning almost at the same pace as Earth from a distance. Listening to the roaring sound of the universe as the bottle turns. Turns and turns and turns. Your eyes light up.

The girls giggle.

"No," you say sternly, regretting all your daydreams and fantasies in the face of cold, hard reality. "No, not Steve."

"Please!" they whine.

"Ladies, that's enough. He's a good friend, we're not spying on him."

They act like kicked puppies, though you know they're tricking you as they pout and bat their eyes. You know they know more than they should. About you. You and your feelings towards Steve Harrington. Something they discovered through a quiz in some teeny bopper magazine or other. Those magazines that somehow hold the secrets of the universe and the answers to every haircare question.

“Come on, I’ll make us popcorn and we can start a movie. A horror, if you really want.”

They seem satisfied enough, springing to the couch and settling into the cushions there.

The stove heats slowly. You fish through your cabinet for the last pan of Jiffy Pop, peeling back the thin cardboard cover when you hear snickering from the other room.

“What’s he saying?” Max whispers. You strain to hear her with your back pressed to the wall, just out of sight.

You shouldn’t be eavesdropping. You know better. You’re not a prepubescent girl anymore, you’re the babysitter with responsibilities. Like a job. Yet, you can’t seem to pull yourself away from the doorway. Every time you hear his name, your heart soars with what-ifs. You feel your eyes slip closed as El speaks.

“Steve is speaking to someone. I see her”—Your heart sinks—“Robin!”

You selfishly let out a breath. You’re mostly thankful he’s not spending his evening alone, but you also knew his friendship with Robin was strictly platonic. Robin had sworn by it without you even having to raise the question. You didn’t have to, she said, she could see it in your face. You wondered if Steve found you that transparent.

“He’s talking about… A girl. Her eyes. A smile. And he’s smiling, too. Oh, wait, now he’s frowning because Robin flicked him,” she says with a playful lilt.

She gasps.

“What?” Max yelps, shifting closer on the squeaky couch.

“Steve wants to confess his feelings. Big feelings, he says. Like-like.”

You not sure if that’s El’s paraphrase of Steve’s so-called big feelings or if the term like-like came from his own mouth. Neither option would surprise you. What does surprise you is that you’d never heard any of this from Steve before. You liked to think you were friends, even one of his best friends. He was surely one of yours. You told each other almost everything because you can’t exactly discuss complex relationships and sex with middle schoolers.

But you’d never heard of Steve’s seemingly new, mystery like-liker lover.

“He’s thinking of asking her out. Robin told him he might as well, it’s obvious that the girl he’s talking about likes him back. He doesn’t agree,” El says, her brows furrowed beneath the thick black blindfold, “Robin’s shouting. Steve looks sad.”

“What’s she saying?” Max whispers.

“Shh! ‘You like her so much, you might as well tell her and let her react. But I’ll say this, she’s going to say yes. That girl has been in love with you since the eighth grade’. He’s thinking.”

“Think faster, hair-brain!”

El giggles, her face suddenly falling serious. “‘Really?’” You stifle a laugh at the deeper voice she affects.

“‘She’s never said anything to me about it’. Robin looks angry. ‘Obviously, dingus! Do you go around telling people you’re in love with them?’”

“She has a point,” Max says. “Who’s he talking about?”

“I don’t know—Oh! Here we go,” El huffs, fists clenched eagerly, “He’s making a plan to ask her out, he’s going to call her. He’s getting up—”

Just then, the popcorn bursts from its aluminum confines with a bang. You let out a strangled noise between a yelp and a grumble, annoyed at the rude and very loud interruption. As you set the burner knob in place, you consider the fact that Steve has very real feelings for someone else. Someone who’s just not you. And as you shake the popcorn into a ceramic bowl, the landline rings.

“Will someone get that?” you call, grabbing a few small packages of sweets stashed in the cabinet. You hear the girls spring from the couch, and you shuffle into the living room to a giddy scene huddled around the receiver.

“Yes, she’s here!” El squeals. There’s a muffled response from the other line, and they share a conspiratorial glance.

“It’s for you,” Max says, handing you the phone with a smirk.

“Thank you. Go pick a movie while the popcorn’s hot.” You clear your throat, preparing yourself for the worst. Maybe your boss firing you or a repo man taking your TV. “Hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to interrupt girl’s night, I can call back later,” Steve’s gentle voice filters clear through the speaker. In the silence, static hums, and you press the phone closer to your ear.

Trying to listen for what he might be thinking. He sounds like rain. Like Sunday and a lack of pressure. He sounds inviting and warm like that big green sweater he’s always wearing. If only you knew he wears it because you adore it. You tell him every time; why would he ever stop.

“No!” you chirp, “no, perfect timing actually, we were just about to start a movie.”

“Oh! That sounds fun,” he says. You fidget with the springy cord, facing away from the living room and from the attention of the two flittering girls.

“Yeah,” you say, hoping he doesn’t recognize the disappointment coloring your tone. “So, how’d it go?”

He chokes a little. “How’d… what? Go?” There’s a soft snicker from the other line at his incidental voice crack.

“Your… I mean, did you have something you wanted to tell me?”

The line dips, but you hadn’t heard the telltale plastic clatter of a hang up. Just soft shuffling and a curse from under his breath. You curdle at the near silence.

“What did Robin tell you?” he grumbles.

“What? Nothing. Was she supposed to?”

“Well, no! I just called to tell you—”

He goes silent, and this time you’re actually convinced he hung up. There’s no sound at all, and you double check your receiver to make sure the problem’s not on your end.

“Stevie?”

“Yep, sorry. Just… feel silly.”

“Okay, you’re starting to scare me a little,” you hum, clutching onto the handheld.

“No! Sorry, not trying to scare you, honey, I just need to get something off my chest. But it’s not scary. Or, well, I guess it could be taken that way, and that would be okay. A little sad, but yeah, no hard feelings—”

At this point, you’re sure he’s talking about his prospective date. He knows you have a stupid, obvious crush on him, and he’s trying to soften the blow of new romantic conquest. Of course, introducing his new girlfriend to you would be terrifying, but you’d always put on a brave face for Steve. He knows that. He’d do the same for you.

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“Just get it over with,” you sigh, leaning your head against the wall and bracing for heartache.

“Right. Not trying to waste your time. Here goes.”

I’ve got a new, smoking hot girlfriend who just agreed to go on a date with me. And she’s got beautiful eyes and a gorgeous smile, and I’ve been in love with her since I can remember, and we’re gonna run away together forever and get married and have perfect babies.

“I like you,” he huffs.

“Well, duh, I like you, too, you’re only my closest friend,” you say. You’re tense, waiting for the other shoe to come hurling through the skylight. “Now, tell me.”

“No, sweetheart, I like-like you. Have since I was nine. Miss Boyd’s class, if I’m not mistaken.” There’s a soft thud like his forehead colliding with the wall beside his phone.

You inhale a shaky breath. He’s kidding, and it’s a prank. Your heart races, and you want to curse him out for picking on you. He should know better. Right?

“Steve,” you warble, “please tell me you’re joking.”

There’s more shuffling, muffled voices, and you think you’ve just exposed one long drawn out joke. You’re about to hang up with what’s left of your dignity when he says:

“Are you rejecting me?”

He sounds almost mad. Hair ruffled, skin on edge. How you imagine his father might sound just before one of his awful fits. But there’s something much softer to Steve, more understanding. Hurt like a child.

Still, you can’t help you suspicion.

“Quit it. I know it’s a joke, don’t drag it out.”

“Hey, wait a second,” he urges, “It’s not a joke. I like you. A lot.” He says it so softly, your heart just might believe him. As if all the stars have aligned, and he’s actually confessing his feelings for you. You didn’t think the stars did that. Not really, anyway.

There’s a new tune to his voice you’d almost name teasing, “c’mon, don’t leave me hangin’.”

And just like that, he’s back in school again, fawning over you from a distance, finding an excuse to tag you during recess only to avoid you in class so you wouldn’t see him blush. He’s back to whispered secrets through the phone at midnight so he’s parents wouldn’t catch him. He only ever told you what wouldn’t give him away. He’s back to not letting you pay for your ice cream and shrugging it off with a smile. He’s back, and he might just be yours.

“I—Sorry, you like me? Like like-like, like enough to ask me on a real date?” you huff. He chuckles.

“Well, that last part kinda depends on whether or not you like me back. But yes, I like-like like like-like you.”

You spin to face the living room only to be confronted by an empty popcorn bowl and two fidgety, blushing, wide-eyed teens. They urge you for answers, gesturing wildly and wiggling towards you across the floor.

“Of course, I like you. I thought you knew.”

“Everyone keeps saying that. I guess I was too distracted,” he admits.

“I guess we both were,” you say, unable to keep a grin from your face, succumbing to joy as your fingers dance along the telephone cord.

“So, how about that date?” It escapes him barely above a whisper. He can’t believe he’s actually saying it after all this time. The only thing that convinces him it even came out is your soft laughter.

“Sounds wonderful!”

“Good!” he coos.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Great, yeah. That’s… I can’t wait.” He’s earnest until his cheeks hurt, and Robin teases him for it.

“Tomorrow, it is,” you purr, nearly in tune with the low hum of the receiver, “I’ll call you later.”

“Bye, sweetheart. Don’t forget: I like-like you.”

You smile, slotting the phone back into its place. A chorus of giggles erupts at your feet. Spin the bottle had been a good idea, after all.

stranger things masterlist

[freewilllife]

I think I should’ve been more clear that he does experience bullying and people genuinely looking down on him. But he expects everyone to think that way, so he doesn’t see when people actually care.

Neither does Xie Lian, but strangely people consider this cute.

Look, I wanna say: I am sorry, if this sounds harsh. This is not personal, merely my point of view considering Mu Qing and his role inside of the story:

And when we look at it: Who does care about Mu Qing?

As a servant he was bullied from his fellow students, was superficially appreciated by the queen, had to experience how Feng Xin broke his arm, was hated by his teacher, was abused by Qi Rong...

And that all because of his poverty. Not due to his character. Mu Qing used to be so silent and had to grit his teeth.

That is why, Xie Lian was not able to recognize Mu Qing as a god, because is relatively good at adapting to different situations. From his early childhood, he knew that people, above else, from higher standing would look at him a certain way...that life is harsh and not a circus.

That is why, Xie Lian - apart from him being selfish - did not really know Mu Qing. And he hardly cared about him. Not as a person.

If he had, he would have tried to see the situation just one time from Mu Qing´s point of view.

Xie Lian just expected him to obey him and forfeit his change of becoming a god. And Mu Qing did not obey.

Has Xie Lian ever tried to see the situation from his eyes? No. Not in the entire series. He even made of fun of Mu Qing´s heritage.

But Mu Qing did. He apologized for hurting Xie LIan. Xie Lian never did and he ows Mu Qing an apology for all the shit he put him through.

So yes, Mu Qing very well knows, when people like him or not, but he is not ready to sacrifice life joices, that are important to him.

How I saw it was Feng Xin tried to be friendly, Mu Qing snapped back because he thought he was mocking him, and Feng Xin thought Mu Qing had it out for him. But I think they care, in their own way. They just have a mutual misunderstanding.

Feng Xin is basically never friendly to Mu Qing and is one of the people who condemn him the most. Honestly, I would have not believed it either from a person like Feng Xin. If he had really truly apologized, then maybe, but he ended up criticizing him at the end.

Basically, Feng Xin had too little interest to mend the relationship and was more comfortable to cultivate his prejudices regarding Mu Qing.

I think there weren’t any good solutions to the post-Xianle situation. Staying with Xie Lian would involve a lot of suffering, and he shouldn’t have had to stay. But, perhaps because we see the book from Xie Lian’s perspective, I really feel bad that he was alone 800 years. Still, I guess Mu Qing leaving was going to happen eventually when Xie Lian sent Feng Xin off.

I do think they were. Xie Lian had to just learn quicker to adapt to situations.

Mu Qing was basically showing him a way to care for his parents, but just out of hurt pride, he forfeited this possibility. People are far to lenient regarding Xie Lian.

And just to be clear: Xie LIan drove both - Feng Xin and Mu Qing away. Neither of them left him, actually.

Thinking about how Xie Lian was like a shadow over Mu Qing’s life even after his ascension. Mu Qing couldn’t change the fact he only ever had a chance of becoming a god because of Xie Lian noticing him. He was so certain that everyone around him hated him for being a servant, hated him for his connection to the Laughingstock of the Three Realms.

He tried to appease everyone. He distanced himself from High Highness, but couldn’t fully stay away. Even when Mu Qing chose to help those 33 officials and chased away Xie Lian, he still tried to go back and help. He was never going to explain himself, but he was going to prove himself through his actions. It… didn’t work out for him.

Something I’ve brought up before and think about a lot is our introduction to Mu Qing, where Xie Lian said they last met 5-6 centuries ago. He’s very consistent otherwise; he ascended around 800 years ago, became ridiculed about 800 years ago, last saw Feng Xin 800 years ago. But he claimed he saw Mu Qing more recently than that.

There were all sorts of other things like his death at Lang Qianqiu’s hands that Xie Lian brought up for a line or two and never elaborated on, and I think this is the same. They’re usually unpleasant moments he’d rather forget. Makes you wonder.

I do think Mu Qing fucked up a lot. The aforementioned moment with the 33 officials, leaving Xie Lian, never giving Feng Xin the benefit of the doubt and assuming the worst of him. Even when Mu Qing had good intentions, I think what ended up happening was bad. But when moments of him being genuine shine through, I can’t help but be enraptured.

Mu Qing didn’t have to return with a bag of rice to help Xie Lian and Feng Xin. No one made him show up to Xie Lian’s palace and offer high quality medicine when the latter was injured. And, of course, my favorite scene of his: opening up about his feelings when he’s prepared to sacrifice himself.

I don’t really have a lot of complex analysis of him yet, I just like taking little looks at his actions. He’s so scared of being hated that he tries to play all sides, and instead of people all living him for it, he just causes them to all get frustrated instead. It’s a loop he’s caught in. But there are moments when he steps aside, shows what he’s really feeling, and I love him so much for it.

[ganondoodle]

got this reblog on one of my posts were i talked about being anxious about the future of the zelda series after totk and-

i even went back and unblocked them just to check my own post and check twice what they meant exactly- but i still dont know how they got to these conclusions

i never said i 'want a good uwu ganondorf' (bc that would mean hes aligned with hyrule bc thats how goodness works!!!!11!1!!!), i also dont think of any of the zeldas as 'whores' (seriously, where did that come from?? neither me nor the addition of someone agreeing with me said anything like that??? did they think bc the addition called tloz misogynistic means we think zelda is a whore????? huh???)

its also funny how they say they want zelda to stay a simple fairytale rather than have 'people like me' bc .. one point i talked about in the og post was how the evil arab thing VS good white people media likes to do so much is so normalized here that its simply seen as a simple harmless fairytale trope instead of a big underlying issue in general media and the writers might not even realize it (which is worse) bc the most 'generic' appeal is to people who dont think of it as a problem in the first place, because it is so normalized

(huh, i wonder about what kind of person that part was about .. hmmmm)

(ALSO funny they mention princess hilda as nuanced villain ... like ... wow they are so nuanced about purple haired people!!- like guess why we want a nuanced/less badly/less flat written ganondorf and what he, in particular, has not in common with other villains! its not his hair color! .... or was that point supposed to mean .. look we have one female character that is a villain, its not misogynistic! idk honestly)

(and the classic, "you just call it this/dont like it bc its not what you wanted !!!!!!!2!"1!112!!")

also funny how its 'never gonna be progressive enough' like asking for the franchise to maybe put a little more thought and nuance into their white divine right vs evil desert man simulator instead of making it worse is already asking too much

(i dont know what the last point has to do with anything??)

(also yes totk is racist, like most if not all of the franchise and a alot of other media as well, shocker- you can still like it though, i and plenty of other people are still fans of it, we just wish they did a little more with their stuff and maybe not make the racism problem WORSE)

(also yes the hyrule monarchy is also evil :))) )

(and also not so secretly so either :)) )

[solitaireships]

I feel like I should say since there's been a recent uptick in a lot of communities I'm in/see stuff from a lot of white people pretending to be Asian, but you are not welcome here if you are in anyway stealing from Asian cultures for clout or the aesthetics of it

This includes if you're white and you give your self inserts Asian names, I truly do not care if your f/o is from an anime, you should not be using an Asian name under any circumstances. I hate that whenever I see someone using an Asian name online, I feel like I have to start searching their account to see if they're actually Asian or just a white person who likes the aesthetic of it bcs far too many white people will use Asian names here just bcs it sounds cool, with no regard for the actual cultural meaning behind it. Meanwhile actual Asian people will be mocked for their names, or treated like their names are too hard to learn to pronounce, or discriminated against based on their names

Asian cultures are not a fun little costume for people to dress up with. They aren't just a nice aesthetic, they aren't just a thing you can borrow from bcs you think it sounds cool

[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)

[fluffypotatey]

To be honest I am a huge Nalu shipper. But the thing is I want to know the difference between the way Natsu cares about his guildmates and Lucy. Like what is the obvious difference since that boy sees every as Nakama so how can we say that the wag he cares about Lucy is different?

Like even when Erza passed away? (All the way back in first season there was a segment where the guild was gathered at her grave and all) Natsu was still very reactive. Plus he was also said to be depressed even when Lisanna passed.

What's the difference between all of them and Lucy?

the fact that he stayed. the fact that before he met Lucy, Natsu wasn't one to stay in a group or even want to work with anyone besides Happy at the start of the story. hell, he was ready to just file Lucy down as "New Guildmate" once they reached Fairy Tail

but then, Lucy doesn't leave. she follows him on his mission to save Macao despite her not needing to or even really understanding everything about it. she stays and then fights with him and saves him. it's no secret that Natsu is strong and can take care of himself really well. he's been going on solo missions for years now, and no one has really stopped him, but that means he's been in a lot of sticky situations where he and Happy are on their own and have no backup. and yet, without asking, Lucy offers it

and i think this is the moment when Natsu considers that maybe it's okay to have someone there to have his back (sans Happy)

"but Natsu only needed Lucy for the next quest because of the requirements," well, Natsu also wouldn't have taken or even considered that quest if it weren't for Lucy, yeah? he was not a team player (in the picking job's sense) or really wanted other people to help him on his quests sans Happy. and then he goes and picks a job that caters to their team whilst ensuring that Lucy can't say no

or maybe i'm reading too much into it 🤷🏻‍♀️

or maybe Natsu's got horrible abandonment issues that he will latch onto people so fast (Igneel & Lisanna) but also cause him to distance himself so far when left behind (his 1st time at the guild, Lisanna's death). Erza and Gray are Natsu's closet friends after Lisanna and yet they cannot reach him when he closes himself off. and then we have Lucy, who stuck by and had his back, so who is to say Natsu didn't make some contingencies to ensure whether or not she'd join him?

but maybe it's the rose, colored ship glasses i have on

because yeah, Natsu cares for all of his guildmates. the power of friendship is his biggest motivator. when we meet Natsu, our first introductions of him is defending his guild's reputation from Bora (who was using it as a guise for human trafficking) and saving Macao. and our 1st big arc (Galuna Island), where Natsu adamantly refuses to allow Gray to use Ice Shell and sacrifice himself despite how antagonistic they've been to each other. we get Natsu 100% at Erza's defense throughout the Tower of Heaven and he is even ready to defend Wendy though they only met hours ago

Natsu is a character with a bleeding heart and cannot help but wear it on his sleeve, but we don't really see him allow others to fight his battles or have his back until Lucy comes in. to be honest, i don't even think he had his heart on his sleeve until Lucy. he still has a bleeding heart (i don't think anything could stop that), but he was not ready to be open in receiving company because he was so used to it being ripped away from him

that being said: of all the characters he interacts with, he finds Lucy to be someone compatible enough for him to start going on team missions and inviting her on them (for example, his 1st S-class mission, which he stole, he went to her house to show it to her. the fact that part of the reward was a celestial key might be a coincidence, but i wouldn't doubt it as Natsu and Happy's trump card in case she refused)

but yeah, the difference is that he stayed and didn't push her away at the beginning, but instead continued to invite her along with him to the point that doing a mission without Lucy wasn't his regular anymore. compared to the rest of the guild, of whom he spent most of his childhood with, even if he spoke to no one, they would still be around and talk to him anyway. he might not invite them on job and only challenge them to fights, but the guild is his home and a constant in his life, a constant he needs (bc heavy abandonment issues).

"okay, but he still pushed her away after he watched Igneel die right in front of him. and he left the guild for a whole year, too. so what's the difference there?" you may ask.

so 1) Natsu never thought the guild would disband. he returns to Fiore after a year and is the last to know that they disbanded. he assumed, like all the other times before and while he and others were sealed for 7 years, that Fairy Tail would still be there when he returned. he assumed that his disappearance would not impact so hard because the guild would still be around and Lucy would have the others with her

which, did not happen :)

and like, so many guild members go off on jobs, quests, or even just leave for an indiscriminate amount of time (which i, personally, believe was his rationality for leaving), so him being gone for a year was nothing! right? no harm, eh? his plan was never to be gone forever :))))

2) he just watched his father die and lose any chance of having some semblance of a long term reunion with Igneel. he literally lost one of his main driving motivations for getting stronger and taking jobs. before Fairy Tail, before anyone, it was Igneel. and to learn that a) Igneel was always with him to begin with and b) he only got to see him for less than a day after 14 years of nothing......i would feel lost too ngl

man's needed space from everybody. and he also needed comfort, but Natsu has been shown not to really be the character who asks to receive comfort (and when he does receive it, it's usually when he's already emotionally compromised). he is in the habit of shutting people out after being abandoned or losing someone close to him, with his next rationale being to "get stronger" in order to prevent what happened in the past to ever happen in the future.

anyway

what makes this different? well for one, he sent the letter only to Lucy (or it's implied since no one else is shown getting one) because of how the two spend most of their time together. even the line that goes with the panel makes it sound like Natsu is unsure on how the note will be received (maybe even hesitant? but that could be my own hopes)

and one of the 1st people he reunites with after a year is Lucy and we get such a similar parallel to the first chapter of Fairy Tail between the two as if the narrative itself is slotting them together to say "ah yes, now everything is back to normal and new journeys can begin"

but yeah, this is just a long way of saying, that Natsu does love his friends and guildmates but even when he is close to them, he kept to himself (and Happy) and sort of stayed in their orbit but always with some emotional distance because of his fear of abandonment. and then you have Lucy where he will stay for and allow her to orbit around him and he will invite to new adventures no questions asked

that's the difference